Rowan Light
by LindaO
Summary: The final installment of the Romanov series. AUTHOR'S NOTE: In belated honor of the late Robert Lansing's birthday, a happy ending at last for Control. This story is for Paige, with great thanks. And for all who've read this far in the series - happy holidays!
1. Chapter 1

The man who had been Control hung onto the black iron bars so tightly that his knuckles ached white. He leaned close, his face nearly pressed to the high fence, and looked through. Beyond, through a thin screen of brush and across a vast span of immaculate green lawn, stood a tall, elegant manor house. Somewhere in its vast halls walked his heart's greatest desire.

He hoped.

He was nearly frantic with his longing to go to her: To cross the lawn, storm the house and seek her out. But his fear was so real it was almost physical, and it kept him rooted where he was. It had been so long and so far. What if she wasn't here? What if she'd been followed? What if she'd been caught or killed? What if she'd lost the baby, when he couldn't be there to comfort her, when he couldn't share the loss? What if she'd come to regret her decision in the time they'd been apart? What if she'd grown tired of waiting for him? What if she'd fallen for Dyson, in the months she'd lived under his roof?

What if she didn't love him any more?

It was an insane notion. Of course she still loved him. Of all his many doubts, that was the most unfair. He could doubt the plan, doubt its success. But to doubt Lily was unthinkable.

Yet the idea stayed with him.

There was, too, a more practical side to his fear: What if _he'd_ been followed?

It was unlikely. He'd been very careful. He'd traveled to five continents, by every mode of transportation available. He had traveled fast, and he had dallied. Barely touched down in some ports, lingered days in others. He had changed his identity countless times. Changed his appearance repeatedly. He had broken every pattern he had, every habit. Most of all, he had watched. Every trick, skill, experience, and instinct he possessed had gone into being sure he had not been followed.

If they had followed him to Rio, it was only a matter of time before they found Dyson – and Lily. All the caution in the world wouldn't help now if they had trailed him here. There was no reason to wait like this, hanging on the tall fence that kept him separate from his love – his wife.

And still he hung on the bars and still he waited. He no longer knew what he was waiting for. He only knew that he waited.

Across the vast green lawn, at the rear of the house, a French door opened onto the terrace. Two dogs raced out, mastiffs, huge and fierce-looking. The man who had been Control watched them closely, ready to retreat if they showed any interest in him. But the dogs stopped near the door and pranced about, waiting.

Lily Romanov walked out after them.

The man who had been Control felt the breath leave him, and he barely cared if he ever inhaled again.

She wore a gauzy white dress, loose and blowing in the light breeze. A shift in the air let him see clearly that she was indeed still pregnant. Her belly rounded out now as far as her newly-lush breasts. She walked to the edge of the terrace and picked up a Frisbee from a low table. He could see changes in the way Lily moved – heavier, slower, but also more fluid, more graceful. Her feet were bare, and she seemed to dance out onto the grass.

There was a flash of green, sunlight glinting off the emerald that hung at her throat.

Lily flipped the disk, and the guard dogs romped after it with undignified enthusiasm.

The man who had been Control gripped the bars even more tightly, letting the fence hold him up now. He finally remembered to breathe.

"You know," a voice rumbled at his elbow, "I usually shoot trespassers on sight."

Andrew didn't turn his head, though he was sure he'd look down the barrel of a gun. "Hello, Richard."

"Andrew. About time you got here."

"I came as soon as I could." He finally managed to look away from the woman. His old friend was indeed putting a gun away. "How is she?"

"She's pining," Dyson answered. "I didn't think young women knew how to do that any more, but she pines remarkably well. Barely sleeps, barely eats, cries when she thinks no one's looking."

He nodded, looking back toward the woman.

"She is a lovely woman, for all that," Richard continued. "You might have told me she was pregnant."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"I wouldn't have made as big a play for her."

Andrew frowned. "You hit on my wife, Richard?"

Dyson shrugged. "Can you blame me? Not that it did me any good. But I do think, if you hadn't shown up, I might have had a chance. In four or five years."

Andrew studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You might, at that," he conceded. He turned back to the fence. "The baby's all right?"

"The doctor thinks she's a bit small. He'd like it if the mother stopped pining. But otherwise healthy, yes."

"Good." Andrew tried, but could not release his iron grip on the fence. "Good."

The dogs woofed and romped, in a manner quite unbecoming of guard dogs, fetching the Frisbee and fighting over who got to return it, panting joyously over a pat and a kind word from the temporary mistress of the house.

"Well," Dyson finally said, "are you going to stand there all day, or are we going in?"

With great effort, Andrew unwrapped his fingers one at a time, and turned. "I want …" His voice caught; he cleared his throat and began again, "I want to see her."

Dyson nodded, gestured back toward the road. "Right this way."

They walked out of the woods in amiable silence. Both paused at the edge of the curving drive, looking both ways at the emptiness. "I trust precautions have been taken," Dyson ventured mildly.

"Everything I could think of." They walked shoulder-to-shoulder up to the house.

"The beard is a nice touch," Dyson commented.

Andrew touched his face reflexively. He'd started the beard as soon as he'd left New York, and it had been through a number of incarnations in his travels. Rough and shaggy. Dyed improbably dark. Trimmed into an utterly pretentious goatee. Currently, it was close-trimmed, neat. It had served his purpose; it had disguised his rather distinguished jaw line from casual observation. He'd thought about shaving it off before he left his hotel, but decided to keep it. It would amuse Lily, at least momentarily, and then he'd take it off. At least, he'd thought it would amuse her. Now he had second thoughts about it.

Dyson led him up the steps, across a wide stone porch and in through the front door. It was, Andrew was sure, a magnificent house. Probably stuffed with tasteful displays of Dyson's many priceless collections, all immaculately kept. He couldn't, just now, see any of it.

All he could see were Dyson's broad shoulders, leading him. To his new life. To his wife and his child. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He was hot and then cold; he couldn't wait, couldn't take one more step.

He followed Dyson.

They came to the back of the house, to the open door that led to the veranda, and the yard, and Lily.

The man who had been Control stopped at the threshold. Richard paused on the veranda, looked back. "You all right?"

She was thirty yards away. If she turned now, she could see him. His hand came up to his beard again. He should have shaved, he was sure of that now. He should have worn a nice suit, a new suit. Should have thought to bring flowers, a truckload of flowers, or a single perfect rose, a tea rose, she liked tea roses …

"Andrew?" Dyson prompted quietly.

He shook his head, tried to clear it. He could hear her voice, encouraging the dogs' play. He'd forgotten her voice, how it wrapped around him, how its warmth carried, how hearing it in the hallway made a day trapped in the office bearable … no. That was over now. He would never go back to the office.

It took every ounce of courage he had to step over the threshold.

Dyson had moved to the edge of the veranda. Andrew followed, stopped beside him. The dogs noticed him then. They stopped playing, glanced at each other, then charged at the stranger in deadly silence.

Richard gestured and the dogs stopped their attack and sat, watchful and obedient.

Andrew had seen the dogs charge, but he did not see them stop, and he did not care. Lily had turned and seen him and nothing else mattered at all.

He was vaguely aware that Dyson called the dogs to him, that he took them into the house and closed the door. They were alone.

Lily did not move. Neither did Andrew. They just stood and stared across an endless chasm of grass.

The breeze blew, ruffled her hair, her dress. Sunlight flickered across her face and she blinked, raised one hand to brush her hair back. It was as long now as it had even been, before she'd hacked it all off in grief, and it was straight and shiny and soft-looking. The emerald glimmered again at her throat.

Andrew took a step onto the grass. Another. Wondered why she didn't move. Wished she would. It was too far to walk on his own. He had circled the earth to be with her. Why were these last steps so damn hard?

Her expression never changed. He could see how shallow her breathing was. His was the same, tiny sips of barely enough oxygen. He wished they could take a deep breath, either of them.

She took a step when he did, a second, a third, cutting the distance between them in half. Then she stopped, faltered, and sank very slowly to her knees.

If he'd been closer, the man who had been Control thought, he could have caught her. That thought let him shake off his paralysis, let him cover the last distance in strides. She looked down and away as he approached. Confused, he sank to his own knees in the soft grass in front of her.

"Lily," he managed to whisper.

She shook her head emphatically. "I know how this dream works," she said quietly, sadly. "As long as I don't look at you, as long as I don't try to touch you, you won't disappear."

Andrew smiled gently. He put his hand out where she could see it. "Lily," he said more certainly, "I'm real. I'm here."

She shook her head, still refusing to look at him.

"Try," he urged. "Take my hand. I won't vanish."

She still refused to move.

"Lily, trust me."

Lily did glance up at him then, the old wry humor creeping into her eyes. Through an overwhelming haze of emotion, she suddenly seemed to recognize him. She looked back at his hand, at the simple gold band that glittered on this third finger. With aching slowness, she raised her own hand. She held it an inch from his, glanced at his face again. "Promise?"

"Promise."

He wanted to grab her, but just this once he managed to make himself wait, let her come to him. It seemed to take longer than crossing the grass had, though it was probably no more than a heartbeat or two. Then she snapped her hand out and grabbed his hard, as if she could move fast enough to keep the illusion from disappearing.

Andrew stayed still. Her other hand came up and touched his opposite arm. It slid upward, to his shoulder, then his face. She rested her fingers on his chin, exploring the unfamiliar beard by touch. Her face lit with wonder, with joy. "Oh," she said softly, in surprised recognition. "Oh."

He put his hand over hers, drew her fingers to his lips. "I'm here, Lily."

She sighed softly, and the old mischief came into her smile. "What took you so long?"

Andrew leaned to kiss her. Their lips barely touched, but lingered lightly. She was whispering, or he was, no words, there were no words or too many words. It didn't matter. The kiss deepened, their arms moved, they drew closer, tighter. It was the same as it had always been – and not. There was, it became undeniably clear, something keeping them apart.

He let his hand drop to her round, firm belly. "He's all right?"

"She," Lily corrected softly, "she's fine."

That tidbit of information passed almost unnoticed. "And you? How are you?"

"Better now," she purred. She nestled against his shoulder, rubbed her forehead against his rough jaw. "Oh, better now. And you?"

Andrew shrugged in her embrace. "I could use a shave."

Lily drew back just enough to study his face. "I kinda like it." Her eyes stayed on his, suddenly serious. "Regrets?"

"Not a damn one. You?"

"No." She nestled closed again. "Not now, no." She kissed his chin, his neck, and then, at the point where his neck became shoulder, her tongue flicked out to taste his skin.

It was a tiny thing, the smallest gesture – and it brought back everything. What had been numb relief became electrifying joy. Andrew found her lips again, and this time there was no hesitation, precious little tenderness. Their mouths crushed together in reclamation. The time and distance between them began to dissolve.

It wasn't enough.

"_Kedves_ …"

"Lily … I want …"

" … I know …"

They untangled enough to stand. Then, still half-embraced, they made their way inside. The house was cool and silent; Dyson, the dogs, and whatever staff there might have been stayed considerately out of sight. They climbed the broad staircase slowly. It was a magnificent thing, and Andrew wondered vaguely how he'd missed it on his way in.

"Your leg still bothers you," Lily said softly.

He nodded. It barely showed now, but the steps gave him away. "It will pass."

Lily crowded against him, gave a wordless murmur of sympathy and love. They climbed on, walked past the masterpieces that hung in the upper hall, to a guest suite as vast and tasteful as the rest of the house.

There, beside her bed, the man who had been Control hesitated. "If we shouldn't …" he began, "if we can't, it doesn't …"

"Shhhh," Lily whispered against his mouth. "We can, we should, it's fine."

But then, stepping out of her dress, she seemed suddenly aware of his eyes on her, suddenly deeply self-conscious. "God," she said, her hands on her belly, "I must look enormous."

He studied her newly configured body with undisguised interest. Her rounded belly was the most obvious change, but there were others differences as well. Her breasts were markedly fuller, as were her hips; even her shoulders seemed softer, rounder. But beyond her torso, she was thinner – her arms, her legs, even her face were noticeably too thin. Pining, Dyson had said, and Andrew could see the evidence of it. But it didn't matter. That was over now. "You look perfect," he said sincerely. "You look as if this is always how you were meant to look. As if you're finally … whole."

They made love slowly, tenderly – badly. The physical obstacles, her advancing pregnancy, his faint left-side weakness, were trivial. The greater problem was the time and distance that lingered between them. They had been lovers and confidants for years on years, but they had been apart for the most crucial months of their lives. They were in many ways strangers, lost in frustration at their inability to reconnect. The physical aspects only made it worse. The hesitant gentleness they tried to show each other was almost insurmountable.

Abruptly, Lily began to laugh.

"What is so damn funny?" Andrew demanded, angry, aggravated, hurt.

"Us," Lily answered. "We once managed snow cones in a five-star shower, and here we are like a couple of clumsy virgins at the drive-in."

He huffed, his anger relenting into humor. "I'll have you know I was _never_ this clumsy at the drive-in."

"Now even the first time?"

"I read a lot." He chuckled, relaxed several notches. This was the Lily he knew. "And I pretended extremely well."

"I bet you did. What was her name?"

"Marguerite."

Lily giggled in surprise. "A French girl?"

"No, just one with pretentious parents."

She laughed out loud again, and Andrew with her. It was enough to work the kinks out; they relaxed into themselves, into each other, and the lovemaking turned as good as it had ever been, though markedly different.

They settled, after, like spoons in a drawer, her back to his chest, his arm draped protectively over her belly. Lily drifted to sleep almost immediately. Andrew could almost feel the weariness draining out of her. He lay awake, content, musing. There were so many things to think about, so many emotions to feel, so much to talk about, but there was no rush. They could talk when she woke, and after dinner, and in bed tonight. They could talk tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day …

For the first time, he felt the full impact of what had happened. They'd _done_ it. They'd gotten out, they were safe – as safe as they would ever be – they were together, their child was safe, and they had all the rest of their lives together …

Unexpectedly, the baby jumped beneath his hand. Badly startled, he took a sharp breath. Then he grinned to himself, relaxing. Lily's breathing didn't change. The two of them hadn't woken her.

He wondered what had startled the baby. A girl, he remembered with surprise. Lily'd said it was a girl. He'd studied up during his travels; he knew the unborn baby could be startled by sudden loud noises or bright lights. But there was none of that here. Only quiet and afternoon light filtered through heavy sheers. Curious.

The baby jumped again. It was just one quick movement, then nothing. As if she was having a seizure, a single convulsion …

Ah, God, he thought desperately, no, please … doctors and books be damned, they should not have made love, they'd done something wrong, they'd hurt the baby …

He lay perfectly still and hoped it wouldn't happen again. It did.

He did a frantic mental review. The baby was nearing twenty-eight weeks. On the brittle edge of survival, if she was delivered now, and with the odds against her even without whatever was causing her to convulse this way …

What had they done to her?

A fourth jump.

With deep dread and grief, he whispered, "Lily, wake up."

She woke instantly; he could feel her coil with awareness, but she did not move. "What's wrong?" she whispered back.

She thought, he knew, that there was some outside threat. He wished there was. "There's something wrong with the baby." As he spoke, the baby jumped again. "There. That."

He expected Lily to be alarmed. Instead, she chuckled. "She has the hiccups."

"She … what?"

"She has the hiccups."

The baby jerked again, and Andrew realized his wife was right. Relief washed through every muscle in his body. "She scared me to half to death," he breathed. He was shaking; he took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Lily rolled onto her back. He spread his long fingers wide over her belly, all but covering the baby. "It scared me the first time," she soothed him. She ran her fingers through his beard, scratching gently, calming his fears. "It took a while to figure out what it was."

The hiccups continued, causing both parents to giggle with every small jump. In apparent annoyance, the baby rolled. Lily guided Andrew's hand to an egg-sized lump which moved casually from her right side to her left. He grinned in fascination. "What is that?" he asked.

"Probably a knee. Maybe an elbow." Lily shrugged. "Maybe her butt. Hard to tell for sure."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It's just sort of peculiar. Like I swallowed a live monkey."

Andrew laughed out loud, and the sudden noise caused the baby to jump again. He patted her in apology. "A girl."

"The ultrasound was pretty convincing. I have print-outs, I'll show you."

"Later." His hand glided across her belly, eager to feel the child move again. "A _girl_."

Lily grew serious. "Are you disappointed?"

"No. I'm … what's the word, I know there's a word for it … ah, I know, I'm terrified."

"Why, _kedves_?"

Andrew shook his head. "_Your_ daughter, Lily? She'll have me wrapped around her little finger before she's a day old. I'll never be able to tell her no about anything." Lily laughed. "I'm suddenly seeing a yard full of ponies and kittens and baby ducks and anything else she takes it into her head to ask for …"

"You'll manage."

"No, I think I'm well and truly doomed." The baby seemed to quiet and he patted her again. "When did she start moving?"

"I think the day I got here. But it was so tiny, at first, just butterflies, I wasn't sure. Then it kept happening, got stronger. It's been very gradual, a tiny bit more every day – and then all the sudden there were elbows and knees and butts."

"I'm sorry I missed all of that. I won't miss it with the next one."

The baby rolled back the other way. Andrew watched with fascination. When she settled, when he looked up again, Lily had tears running down her face. "I'm sorry," he said at once, "that was an incredibly thoughtless thing to say to a woman in your condition."

Lily shook her head. "No, it isn't. It's just … that there can _be_ a next child. That we can have as many children as we want."

"You sound surprised. That was always the plan, wasn't it?"

She cried harder. "It was the plan if you got out alive."

"Ah," he said, suddenly understanding. "And you didn't think I would?"

"I … I … wanted to, but I couldn't …"

He gathered her closer. "Oh, Lily, Lily, stop. I'm here now. We did it, love. I'm here, we're safe, and whatever happens, we're together for the duration. I won't ever leave you again."

It didn't quiet her any, she cried even harder, but he understood now that she was crying for joy. She must have been so frightened. She hadn't even allowed herself to hope, to believe that he'd get out safely. He could have been offended, he reflected, but he understood why she'd done it. She had to, so she could protect herself from greater hurt. She did what she had to do to live.

But that was over now. "Tonight we're going to sleep together in this bed. And tomorrow when you wake up, I'll still be here. And tomorrow night, and the next morning. And always, Lily. _Always_. For as long as I live, from now on, I'm going to be with you. Understand?"

She nodded, still weeping, and wriggled from his arms. "I have something for you," she sniffed, rolling heavily out of the bed.

Andrew watched her curiously. She crossed the room to a heavy antique bureau and pushed it. He sat up quickly, about to rush to help her, but the huge piece of furniture slid without effort, silent. Behind it was a wall safe. He nodded. Leave it to Dyson to have a safe in the guest suite. Lily dialed the combination and opened the safe, withdrew a small jeweler's box and came back to the bed.

"You bought me jewelry?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"I bought _us_ jewelry," she answered. She opened the box and showed him. Within were matching wedding bands. They were platinum, the man's set with a large emerald, longways in the band and recessed, so that the top of the ring was nearly smooth. Hers also held emeralds, three smaller ones, set the same way. He recognized the stones as being from the collection he'd sent out of the country with her.

They were infinitely more appropriate than the cheap gold bands they had actually been married with. They were beautiful.

Andrew drew off his original ring and tossed it over his shoulder. He took the man's ring out of the box, almost put it on his finger, then stopped, handed it to Lily instead. "They're perfect," he said.

She took the ring in one hand, his left hand in the other. She had stopped crying, mostly, but her hands still trembled. She slid the ring onto his finger. "I feel like I ought to say something, but I don't know what."

Andrew nodded. "Say that you'll be with me always."

"I'll be with you always."

"And make your home with me, and your family."

She smiled, small tears coming again. "And make my home with you, and my family."

"And love me."

"And love you," she repeated simply. She leaned and kissed him.

He took her ring out of the box and took her hand, threw the old ring away and slid the new one onto her finger. "And I will be with you always, and make my home with you, and my family, and love you, always." His breath caught on the last word. "I love you, Lily, God, I love you." There were suddenly tears in his own eyes. Lily caught them with her fingertips, and then her lips. She was crying again, too, but it didn't matter. They were laughing, too. Wrapped in each other, newly married again, they fell back onto the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard Dyson's housekeeper positively beamed when the young lady took a second helping at supper.

"I see you have your appetite back," Dyson rumbled warmly.

Lily dimpled prettily. "He brought it with him," she said, gesturing across the table to her husband.

The three of them sat at one end of a magnificent, 30-foot long dining table.

"Well, good. Perhaps you'll stop wandering my halls at night, too."

"And perhaps I'll be making endless raids to the pantry."

Richard shrugged, turned to Andrew. "You'll be staying a while, I trust?"

"A week or so, if you don't mind," Andrew answered. "To be sure I wasn't tailed."

"Stay as long as you like." Dyson took another bite, chewed slowly. "You know, it can be difficult, traveling in the third trimester. You could stay here until the baby arrives."

"Won't be any easier traveling with a newborn," Lily countered gently.

"You don't have to travel with a newborn, either," Dyson answered. "Stay 'til she's a little bigger. Maybe, hmm, school-aged. Or until she heads off to college."

Lily grinned indulgently. She glanced across at Andrew, who shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, Richard, but we can't. For one thing, I promised Simms – Control – that we'd settle in the northern hemisphere. Within his sphere of influence."

Dyson shrugged off his disappointment. "A sensible precaution, I suppose."

Andrew looked across the table at his wife. Her face seemed less thin already, though he knew that was an illusion; she was less weary, perhaps. The stresses of the past months came off little by little, hour by hour. Part pregnancy, part happiness, she was becoming luminous.

She caught his gaze and blushed.

"Your home is very lovely," he told Dyson, still studying Lily. "But I promised her a home of her own. And she's waited long enough. It's time we found it and made it ours."

Richard snorted, shook his head. "You got it bad, old man."

"Yes."

"Do you have somewhere in mind?"

Andrew shrugged. "Anywhere with a beach."

Dyson looked to Lily for more specifics. "Lots of beaches in the world."

The woman shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Maybe Bahamas, Bermuda."

Andrew flinched. Richard laughed out loud. "You'll never get him to live in Bermuda. He hates Bermuda."

"Why?" Lily asked.

Dyson just laughed. "You never told her?"

"It was a long time ago," Andrew said uncomfortably. "Zara Leros is dead. I'm sure it doesn't matter any more."

"What happened in Bermuda?" Lily insisted.

"Tell her," Dyson urged.

"Maybe later," Andrew mumbled. "Bermuda would be okay. You tell me, Lily. I don't really care, as long as you're there."

She shrugged. They had not talked about their final destination, had not made a decision, because it kept them from giving it away if either of them was caught. "I've spent all my time in Central Europe. I need to look at an atlas, I guess."

"I'll get you one after dinner," Dyson promised. He gestured, and the housekeeper took away their plates, brought in dessert. He looked at Andrew again. "Hard to imagine you in the tropics, though."

Andrew shrugged, uncomfortable again.

"Why?" Lily asked again.

This time Richard didn't rescue him. In the expectant silence, Andrew shrugged again. "I like snow. Once in a while. I like seasons that change. I don't really like … humidity."

His wife stared at him. "Why didn't you ever say so?"

"I _like_ snow. You _love_ the beach. All you've ever asked from me was a home on the beach. It doesn't matter to me where I live, as long as you're there."

"But …"

"Lily, forget it. We'll live on the beach. If I want snow, we'll travel to snow. That's all."

"But …"

"Lily, it doesn't matter."

"I love the ocean," Lily finally managed to say. "The water. I never said it had to be a _tropical_ beach."

Andrew simply stared at her. "What?"

"If you want snow, we'll go where it snows. If it's on the ocean – any ocean – that's all I want."

He continued to stare. "_What_?"

Dyson began to chuckle. "Should I step out for a moment?"

Andrew shot a glare at him. "Lily, in all the years I've known you, you never said …" Then he sat back and laughed. Hard.

"He's having a fit," Richard observed mildly.

"He does that sometimes," Lily answered.

Andrew managed to stop laughing enough to get words out. "Ten years," he gasped to Dyson.

"Yes?" Richard inquired.

"Ten years I have been sleeping with this woman. Ten years. And I still don't know a damn thing about her."

"She's a woman," Dyson answered. "What did you expect?"

* * *

Susan had said to him, one sleepy afternoon in Spain, that she would never marry a man she had not traveled with. 'You don't really know a man until you've been on the road with him. You haven't seen him at his worst.'

It had been a passing comment, but one that stayed with the man who had been Control. It came back to him on the clear evening when he left Richard Dyson's secure compound with his pregnant wife at his side. He had known Lily for a decade, but he had never traveled with her. He knew that she traveled well; she was one of those rare people who could step off a twelve-hour flight more rested than when she'd boarded. But that was before the pregnancy. He didn't know what to expect now.

They had talked briefly about taking Dyson up on his offer to stay there. If Andrew had pushed the issue, Lily would have gone along with it. Their minds were slipping into the easy synchronization they'd had before; their desires ran in the same vein. If there had been the slightest hint of risk to the baby, they would have settled there for the duration. But their daughter continued to grow and thrive. Cleared by the doctor, armed with Lily's medical records, a great deal of cash and very little else, they set out to find a real home.

They moved mainly north, in short, carefully-planned stages, mostly by car. They traveled by air occasionally, but Andrew limited their flights to no more than three hours. This was, he reasoned, healthier for Lily and the baby; it also cut down on the number of questions the airlines asked about a woman in her condition traveling by air. They rode on trains, and sometimes by bus. A few times they traveled separately along parallel routes for a brief time. They rented cars when it was practical. They changed identities every few days. Everywhere they went, they watched for tails, for signs that they had been discovered.

There were none.

Lily, Andrew was happy to discover, still traveled magnificently.

He watched her fiercely at first, alert for the least sign of discomfort. There were some – back aches, sour stomach, leg cramps, all mild and all enough to satisfy him that she wasn't hiding them from him. There were two days, a week apart, when she simply said, "I'm tired. Let's stay here today." The first day alarmed him badly. He swiftly planned a route to the nearest hospital. Lily ate a hearty breakfast and went back to bed. She woke in time for a similarly healthy lunch and took a long afternoon nap. Andrew fretted the whole day, waiting for the next symptom of trouble to manifest itself, but it never did. She needed to sleep, nothing more. After dinner, she announced that she felt better, and they caught a night flight north. The second time it happened, he worried much less. The baby was having a growth spurt, they decided between them, and sapping her mother's energy for anything else.

But aside from those minor things, Lily traveled as well as she ever had. She was highly proficient at interpreting schedules and timetables, at seeing alternatives in case of trouble. She bought food as they went along, stuffing her shoulder bag or backpack so that they never had to stop for meals unless it was convenient. They kept the cash, the medical records, and their underwear with them; everything else they changed every few days, shopping at thrift stores as they went. Money was no object for them, but it was critical that they look ordinary, that the things they wore and carried not look brand new.

They moved north steadily, through all of South America, through all of Central America. They flew across much of Mexico, then rented a car and drove across the border back into the United States. That was the most nerve-wracking portion of the trip, but the border guard barely looked at them. Tourists on a day trip, drivers' licenses but not passports, nothing to declare, just one car in a line of fifty.

Andrew booked a sleeper car, and they took a train north for two days.

They traveled, they watched, and they talked. Andrew had been worried – way behind many other more pressing concerns, but worried nonetheless – that they would run out of things to talk about. When they met in Budapest, they had spent just over six days together, much of that time taken up with positively debauched sex. They had managed five days at the cabin following her miscarriage, all of that time taken up with grief. Aside from those times, they had never spent more than three consecutive days together. The prospect of spending all the rest of his life with Lily at his side was wondrous, but also a tiny bit daunting.

But it seemed as if they would never run out of things to talk about. They decided on the kind of house they wanted, in what kind of town. They decided on a name for their daughter. They decided – roughly – how many children they would try to have, what kind of schooling the kids should have, what kind of discipline. They bought guidebooks and studied them together, and they began to narrow their ultimate destination.

They crossed into Canada and headed east. It had been their very first decision, intuitive and nearly undiscussed, that it would be the Atlantic Ocean they settled on.

Nova Scotia had been their first choice, but they both took an instant dislike to it. "Too touristy," Andrew pronounced before they had been there an hour.

"Way, way," Lily agreed.

They reached the Atlantic seaboard, and they turned north again.

* * *

Andrew left the hotel and strode briskly across the street to the drug store. He bought both local newspapers and picked up three free real estate magazines. He also bought a quart of orange juice, a quart of milk, and a box of ginger snaps.

As he left the store, he threw an apparently casual glance across at the hotel. There was no one around that alerted his suspicions. He walked to the small deli next door and picked up the breakfast order he had phoned in.

As he waited to cross back to the hotel, he surveyed the area again. It was as much habit as precaution. If they had followed him here, they wouldn't use the front door. They would come in the back, up the service elevator. They would wait for him in his room, with Lily bound and at gunpoint, or already dead on the floor …

Andrew shook his head. Too much imagination. They had not been followed.

Yet he raced up the hotel steps, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

He rapped sharply on the door. "It's me," he said quietly. He heard the chain slide, and then Lily opened the door and let him in.

She was still in her nightgown, and she seemed rounder than she had the night before. He dropped the bags on the bedside table, grabbed her and kissed her.

Lily grinned. "What was that for?"

"For not being dead." She frowned, questioning, but he shook his head. "Never mind. Breakfast."

Lily got a glass from the bathroom. "Damn it, I meant to ask you to get some more …"

"…ginger snaps," Andrew completed easily, bringing out the box. He took the glass and poured it full of milk. "Drink your milk," he said, handing it back. "I brought papers."

"Hmmm." She took her milk and cookies and curled up at the head of the bed.

Andrew got a glass of juice and a carry-out container and sat at the small table with the papers. He glanced at the front page, then skipped to the real estate section. Lily, he knew, would eat her breakfast in a few minutes, after the ginger cookies had settled her stomach.

Three pages of listings in the first paper, and none of the houses looked even remotely suitable. He tossed the paper aside and reached for the second one without much hope. The listings would be mostly identical.

He glanced at Lily. She was reading an area guidebook, a magazine the hotel had supplied, full of pictures but very little text. Exasperated, he said, "I think I'm a lot more concerned about finding a home than you are."

She shrugged without looking up. "My home is where you are, _kedves_."

"I am not keen on bringing our baby home to a hotel room."

"If it weren't for hotel rooms, this baby wouldn't be here at all." She looked up then and smiled. "Besides, Mr. Rowan, I found it."

Andrew frowned quizzically. Rowan was their name now, the one they'd adopted with their Canadian citizenship, properly documented thanks to a talented cobbler in Quebec who owed Dyson a favor. It was, hopefully, the last name they would ever have. "Found what?"

"Our house."

He went and sat on the bed next to her. "Show me."

She handed him the magazine. It was open to a full-page picture of a modern lighthouse. In the corner was a smaller, older photo of smaller stone lighthouse, and behind it a massive two-story stone house. Neither was square; four sides of each were visible in the pictures. "Rowan Light," she announced.

"You want to live in a lighthouse?"

"No, in the Octagon House. Read the last paragraph."

Dutifully, he read aloud, "The original octagon lighthouse was damaged during a storm in 1975, and a modern lighthouse was built at a nearby site. The last lightkeeper continued to live in the Octagon House until his death in 1984. The house has since been abandoned." He looked at Lily again. "It doesn't say anything about it being for sale."

"It's for sale," she said with certainty.

Andrew shook his head. "Where is it?"

They got out their well-worn map and looked. The town of Broken Harbor was forty klicks north of where they were. "Nice name," he said dryly. "I suppose we could take a drive up there."

Lily lumbered to her feet. "I'll shower."

"You'll eat breakfast, too," her husband said sternly. "Should we make the seafood call?"

She chuckled. "I suppose we'd better."

They had developed a simple but thus far accurate measure of the tourism level of a community: If there was more than one seafood restaurant per three thousand permanent residents, the town had too many tourists. Andrew picked up the phone and got the number for the Broken Harbor Chamber of Commerce. The receptionist there answered on the first ring. "Chamber," she chirped.

"Ah, yeah," Andrew said, with just a hint of a drawl. "Listen, I hope you can help me. My buddy was up there last week, said he had dinner at this great seafood restaurant. My wife, now, she's got a craving for seafood and I'd like to bring her up there for dinner, but I can't remember the name of the place."

"Oh, that would be Dylan's," the woman answered cheerfully.

"No, I don't think that was it."

"Only seafood restaurant we have, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Okay. Do you have the number handy?"

"I sure do." She gave him the number. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that's fine. Oh, hey, what's your year-round population up there? We were thinking about five thousand, bigger than Elk Ridge, right?"

"A little bigger," she confirmed proudly. "Five thousand five hundred thirty-two. And a half a dozen or so on the way."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks for much." Andrew hung up the phone, scratched at his beard in satisfaction. "One seafood restaurant, population over five thousand."

"Excellent," Lily answered, and headed for the shower.


	3. Chapter 3

At the fork in the road, Andrew slowed the car. To the left, according to the neat sign, _Broken Harbor Business District and Harbor_. To the right, _Coastal Road and Rowan Lighthouse_.

"House first?" he asked quietly.

Lily nodded. "Yes, please." She rolled her window down and leaned forward, like a child, eager for her first glimpse of the ocean.

He turned north. Within a mile, the ocean became visible on their right. The road rolled lightly over hills and around curves, running parallel to the shoreline. The ground was thick with prairie grasses, strewn with rocks. An occasional scraggly bush broke the plain, and here and there a stand of tall pines braved the ocean wind. A little later the top of the new lighthouse came into view. It was bright white and clean, thoroughly modern.

A few more hills and curves brought the entire lighthouse into view. Beyond it, perhaps five hundred yards further on, stood the ruin of the old stone lighthouse and the Octagon House.

The grass near the new lighthouse was neatly trimmed, and there was a small concrete parking pad at its base, empty. Beyond that, though, the prairie grass grew wild around the ruins. And the house, Andrew decided, was pretty much in ruins.

A low stone wall encircled the house, creating a wide yard on all sides. No, Andrew realized, not encircled; the wall had corners, eight of them, just like the house. The driveway wound through an opening; there was an old steel gate sagging on its hinges to one side. He drove through and parked the car on the broken concrete driveway. "Well," he said slowly, "it's abandoned, all right."

The house was far bigger than he'd thought from the picture. Each of the eight sides, he guessed, was more than twenty feet long. It stood two stories high, with soaring tall windows on both floors. There was a wide stone porch around the ground floor; its wood railing was broken in a dozen places. A wide widow's walk circled the second floor; its white paint had chipped and faded to gray, and its ornate railing was also broken in several places. The gray stones of the walls looked weathered but solid. Every window was covered with dull, weathered plywood. The double-width front door was similarly secured. There was no apparent way to get inside, or even to get a glimpse of the interior.

At the north edge of the lawn, forming a part of the low wall that circled the yard, stood the remnants of the old lighthouse. There was a door in the base, but it too was covered with aged plywood. The tower was higher than the pointed roof of the house. The top of the lighthouse was jagged and blackened, scorched by lightening. In the tall grass below, Andrew could see large pieces of stone left where they had fallen.

It crossed his mind that a man with a good rifle at the top of that tower could hold the entire area for a very long time.

Lily got out of the car. Andrew scrambled out his side. "Be careful here, this ground is rough," he began. Then he tripped and nearly fell.

At his feet was a 'For Sale' sign, rusted, dented, and faded with age. He shook his head. Woman's intuition. He never should have doubted it. "Wait a minute," he called. "Let me get this number."

Andrew got out his notebook and scrawled down the name and number from the sign. When he looked up, Lily was gone.

He snapped around. She hadn't gone far; she was over the wall and making her way clumsily through the high grass towards the sea.

Growling, he followed her. "Damn it, Lily …"

By the time he caught up with her, she was at the edge of the grass. To the south, the slope to the ocean grew steadily higher, breaking below the modern lighthouse into an actual cliff. To the north, the slope grew gentler, rolling down to a small beach on a small cove. There was a wooden structure there, the remains of an octagonal boat house. Where they stood, directly behind the house, the hill was steep but climbable.

Before them, the Atlantic Ocean stretched uninterrupted to England.

Lily stood and looked, absolutely motionless. The wind off the sea caressed her gently, tugging at her clothes, ruffling through her hair.

Andrew walked up behind her, slid his arms around her and their child. "Well, my lady," he said, softly and seriously, "is this the ocean you wanted?"

She wrapped her arms over his. "If you will be here with me, then it is."

"I will be with you always. And this shall be your ocean."

Their daughter wriggled and stretched in approval.

* * *

They drove back to the little town of Broken Harbor. There was only one diner; they went in and ordered lunch. Andrew called the real estate agent while they waited.

"Gary Barnes," the man said briskly.

"Hello. My name is Andrew Rowan. I'm interested in a property you have listed."

"Sure thing. Which property?"

"The house at Rowan Light."

There was a long pause. "Ahhhh … is this a joke? Marty, is that you?"

"It's not a joke," Andrew answered. "My wife and I were out looking at it, and I'd like to know more about it."

"The Octagon House, right?"

"Right. What's the asking price?"

The man named a price. It was less than half of what Andrew and Lily had already decided they were willing to pay, and a fraction of what the house would have been worth in New York. That wasn't necessarily a good thing; it probably meant that the interior was a disaster.

The realtor said, "You still with me, friend?"

"I'm still with you," Andrew assured him. "That price is negotiable, of course?"

"Of course. But listen, here's the thing. The house is a historical landmark. They won't let you tear it down until it falls down. So if you're looking at the land …"

"We want to restore the house and live in it."

"Ahhh." The man paused again, and Andrew could hear him wondering if this was a joke after all. "Rowan, huh? Are you any relation to the family?"

"Not that I know of. But of course it was the name that got my attention."

"Uh-huh. And, uh, do you think you can get the financing?"

"It'll be a cash deal."

Barnes' tone warmed considerably. "When would you like to see the house?"

"As soon as possible. When would be convenient for you?"

"For a cash deal on that house, you tell me when, I'll be there."

"This afternoon? We're in town now …"

"Where at?"

"Gertie's Diner."

"Did you order yet?"

"Yes."

"Not the chicken-fried steak, I hope."

"Uh … no."

"Okay. Everything else there is pretty good. Tell you what, you have your lunch and I'll find the flyer and meet you in half an hour. Sound good?"

"That would be fine."

"And tell Gertie your tab's on me."

Andrew grinned. "I will do that. Thank you."

* * *

Gary Barnes was a man of Andrew's age, and if he was surprised by Rowan's much younger and very pregnant wife, it didn't show. They were cash buyers on a house he'd been trying to sell for ten years. He wouldn't have cared if they were purple.

He paid their bill at the diner and climbed into the back seat of the car, a year-old Mercedes in perfect condition they'd bought two days before. While Andrew drove them out to the house, Barnes leaned over the seat and told them all about the Octagon House.

"Gilbert Rowan built the house in 1895," he said. "He had a smaller house there first, but they kept having children, so he built the Octagon House. He was very big in shipping and business. We're right at the tail end of the Gulf Stream here, you know. The water's as warm here as it is down in Virginia, in the US. Keeps our winters nice and mild, and keeps the port open year-round. Rowan was richer than God. Owned about half the town. He was the mayor for 20 years. The house was a showplace. All the big social events happened there. Then there were four bad storms in one year. The harbor filled with silt, and the big ships couldn't get in any more. Rowan paid to have the harbor dredged out of his own pocket. And it worked, until the next storm. Then it silted up again."

"Broken Harbor," Andrew said quietly.

Barnes nodded. "It used to be Fortunate Harbor. Rowan changed the name of the town. Anyhow, the shipping business all left, but the fishing business took off. Smaller boats, you know, they didn't have any trouble with the harbor, and the train lines were already here to take the catch inland. But Rowan didn't own any of that business. They held on a few more years, but once the kids were grown, Gilbert and his wife packed up and moved to Toronto. One of the boys kept the house, but he fell way behind on the taxes and the province took it. That was about 1960.

"It stood empty for a while, and then the Coast Guard took it over, had a post here. They used the house as barracks." Gary hesitated. "They, uh, they improved a lot of the infrastructure. Electrical, gas, things like that. But they didn't do much for the appearance."

Lily sighed. "Poor old lady."

"Yeah." Barnes swallowed. "I just figure I better tell you now, so you're not too disappointed. The house is sound as a pound, but … it's not beautiful."

Andrew reached across the seat and squeezed his wife's hand. "Go on."

"Well, then in the early 70's they dismantled the post and gave the house to the city. Like we had any use for it. We let the lighthouse keeper live in it. Statler, his name was. Nice old coot. He closed off most of the house, lived in the kitchen and what used to be the dining room. He never did anything about fixing the place up. Then in '74 the lighthouse got hit by lightning. Blew the whole top off. They built the new lighthouse, which was all automated. But the city kept Statler on as a sort of caretaker, let him stay at the house. Then in '83 he had a stroke, went into a nursing home and never came out. The house has been empty ever since."

Andrew steered onto Costal Road. "Why can't you find a buyer?"

Barnes hesitated. "Couple reasons," he finally said. "One, the house isn't in great shape. It needs windows, probably a roof, a furnace, a water heater. Two, it's a big old house sitting in the middle of nowhere. People who want that kind of house don't want to live way out here. And, uh, the people that have wanted to buy it can't get financed. There was one church group that turned out to be a cult, and there was a man who wanted to start an artists' colony, one who wanted to make it into condominiums …" He shook his head. "But also, you'll see when we get inside, it's a very … eccentric house."

"There are no square rooms," Lily guessed.

"Not a damn one in the whole house."

They stopped in the driveway. "Is it safe?" Andrew wondered, helping Lily out of the car.

"Safe?" Gary asked.

"Structurally sound," Rowan clarified. "Is it safe for her to go in?"

"Oh, oh. Yeah, it should be okay. The floors are all solid. The only thing is, there might be a few critters."

"Critters?"

"Well, we sealed the place up tight, keeps the kids and the vagrants out, but there might be coons or skunks or rats."

"I can cope," Lily assured the men.

"We'll have to go around to the kitchen, it's the only door that opens."

They made their way through the high grass to the side door. The door was covered with plywood as well, but it had been mounted with a hinge and secured with two padlocks. Barnes opened the plywood, then the inner door, and they stepped into the kitchen.

"I had them turn the power back on," Gary said. He threw the switch. "With the windows all blocked, you can't see anything."

The room was wedge-shaped, like a slice of pie with the pointed end flattened off, one bite missing. The outer wall was the width of one side wall of the house, over twenty feet. The inner wall was no more than eight feet wide. One long sidewall had pocket doors, standing open, which led to another room of the same shape. On the opposite side, there were open doors to a half-bath, to a pantry, and then an open space that had probably been the breakfast nook. On the short inner wall was a closed door. The room had more doors than walls.

The appliances and counters were all stainless steel. The formerly white linoleum floor – and every other surface – was thick with dirt. The walls, cupboards, windows, doors and doorframes were all painted a uniform color, a sickly yellow-beige, flat. The light fixtures were institutional.

The room was just plain ugly. Yet it was remarkably large, and well laid out in its irregular shape.

"They painted the woodwork," Andrew said, as a curse. He traced his fingers through his beard and contemplated that challenge.

"Poor old lady," Lily said again.

"Uh-huh," Barnes agreed quietly. "Lots of potential, but lots of work. Wait'll you see the main hall."

"Lead on," Andrew said.

Barnes went and opened the door on the short wall. "Wait there," he suggested. He went further beyond the door and switched on the lights. "Okay, now," he called.

Andrew and Lily stepped into the atrium.

There was, Andrew decided, no other word for it. The center of the house was a perfectly octagonal hall, open all the way to the roof. Two wide staircases followed the angles to the second floor, where a railed balcony formed the upper hall. To the left, the octagon stood open onto a wide living room. To the right, the main hallway and the front door. On other walls, other doors, other rooms. But the atrium, thirty feet high, twenty or more feet across, was breathtaking.

"Hell of a place for a Christmas tree," he murmured.

Lily nodded. "We're going to need more ornaments."

Barnes breathed deeply, as if he was finally assured that these buyers were not going to bolt. "Two half-baths on this floor," he reported, "two full baths on the second. Den, library, dining room, each one wedge – the same size as the kitchen. The living room is two wedges. Oh, and three fire places on this floor, plus one in the master suite upstairs."

"How many bedrooms?" Lily asked.

"How many do you need?" he teased gently.

"Depends on how many I have," she teased back.

Barnes grinned. "Five bedrooms, one wedge each. Master suite, same size as the living room. And then one kinda funny room that Rowan – the original Rowan – used for storage. It could be a bedroom, too, if you need it."

"We'll see," Andrew answered easily. "Can we look around?"

"Help yourself." Barnes took the hint and retreated to the kitchen.

"Eccentric." Lily smiled wryly and took his hand.

"Yes," he agreed. He looked at the industrial carpet that covered the ground floor wall-to-wall. It had been ugly monochrome when it was new; now it was worn black-gray in traffic patterns and filthy. There were, he was certain, beautiful hardwood floors under that carpet. "Miserable bastards."

"They painted _all_ the woodwork," Lily pointed out.

Andrew looked around. The woodwork was wide and ornate around the windows and doors, crown and floor moldings. All of it was painted the same sick off-white as the kitchen. The walls were a flat, pale olive color. The Canadian Coast Guard had made an eccentric house incredibly ugly.

They walked slowly though the ground floor, still holding hands. Every room opened onto the main atrium, but every room also had pocket doors which opened onto the rooms on either side of it. The Rowans shared a look. Multiple escape routes. In addition to the front door and the kitchen door, the living room had French doors. From the outside they had seen the stone porch. The room, once the plywood was gone, probably had a spectacular view of the ocean.

They made their way up an angled staircase. It, too, was horribly carpeted, as was the upper landing. The two of them sighed as one at the abuse of antiquities. The landing was circled by doors, all of them closed. Andrew opened the nearest one and groped for the light switch. A bare bulb glared at them from the ceiling fixture.

The room, of course, was institutionally painted and carpeted. It was bigger than Control's living room in New York had been, but with the windows boarded up, it had the appearance of an irregularly-shaped cell. In the outer wall were two tall windows and a French door. It must open, Andrew realized, onto the widow's walk.

Without the plywood, the room would be light and airy – and have its own escape route.

He nodded to himself, caught Lily doing the same. They shared a small smile; they had grown accustomed to sharing the same thoughts. He took her hand and they walked to the next room.

As Barnes had said, there were five 'small' bedrooms. A sixth segment was divided between a huge full bathroom and a half-sized storage room. The seventh and eighth wedges, at the back of the house, made up the master suite. The room was massive, more than big enough for a bedroom set and a sitting room – and every bit as ugly as the rest of the house. Like the other bedrooms, it had tall windows and double doors onto the widow's walk. It also had a grand fireplace, empty, the bricks painted with the same flat institutional paint as the rest of the house, plywood covering the firebox.

Andrew closed his eyes for a moment and saw the room as it should have been: the warm hardwood floor with thick, inviting area rugs, the soft night breeze floating through white curtains, a deep loveseat in front of the crackling fire in the natural brick fireplace, he and Lily wrapped in each other's arms …

… while the children rumbled past on the widow's walk, running in and out of their private doors in a manic game of hide-and-seek, and roller skated around the massive atrium floor, and raced plastic saucer sleds down the staircases, and hurled rubber balls off the balcony at each other …

He laughed out loud.

"What?" Lily asked.

Andrew shook his head. "It will take ten years to restore this house, you know." The question of whether they would actually buy the house had passed, unspoken.

She shrugged. "You got anything better to do?"

"Well, I might think of a thing or two." He put his arms around her and kissed her deeply, in a manner that reminded both of them that before she had been a mother-to-be, she had been his lover.

"So many bedrooms to fill," Lily mused, her mouth smiling against his.

"At least we got a head start." He drew back, patted her belly fondly. "Shall we go make Gary's day?"


	4. Chapter 4

Four days later, Andrew was back in the kitchen – _their_ kitchen – with a freshly-cut key on his keychain and a crisp bill of sale in his pocket. The actual title would take time to transfer, but the house was theirs.

_Theirs. _

Andrew and Eileen ('Call me Lily, everybody does') Rowan had taken possession of the Octagon House at Rowan Light.

Or, very possibly, the house had taken possession of them.

He looked around the kitchen and shook his head. He'd been unable to shake the nagging notion that perhaps, just perhaps, they'd bitten off more than they could chew. So Andrew had done what Control would have done: He'd called in experts.

He turned his attention back to the stainless steel center island. They'd thrown a tarp down over the dirt and spread open a book of blueprints, the plans for the house. To his left was a heavy-set, entirely bald man named Johnson, the city building inspector and, incidentally, the mayor of Broken Harbor. To his right was a small, thin man in wire-rimmed John Denver spectacles, Cox, the best general contractor in town and also, incidentally, owner of the hardware store and the lumber yard.

Across from him, armed with clipboards and pens, was his wife.

He smiled warily at her and launched into their next grand adventure. "Thank you both for coming out," he said warmly. "As you can see, we've got a lot of work to do."

The men both nodded. The mayor said, "Where you gonna start?"

Andrew smiled grimly. "That's why I asked you out here." He had sweetened the asking, of course, with a substantial consulting retainer for each of them. "What I'd like you to do is go over the house top to bottom. Make a note of anything that needs to be done. Then I'd like to create a list – things that have to be done right now, things that need to be done this year, things that can wait a little longer."

"Sensible," Cox agreed. "Good planning."

"Mrs. Gambill …"

"Gambrell," Lily corrected gently.

"Mrs. Gambrell is going to come out and go over furnishing ideas with Lily," Andrew continued. "That's her department, for now. I'm just interested in running water and heat." He glanced around. "And we've got to get these damn windows uncovered."

"I, uh, wouldn't do that just yet," Cox said.

"The kids," Johnson agreed. "They're good kids, don't get me wrong … but this place opened up and nobody living here yet, it's just too tempting."

"Good make-out spot?" Lily guessed brightly.

Cox nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Back in my day, it was the best."

"They wouldn't hurt anything on purpose," the mayor said quickly. "But you know, if it got chilly, one of them might get the bright idea to start a fire in a fireplace or something …"

Andrew nodded. "Chimneys," he called, and Lily obediently wrote it down.

"Furnace vents, too," Johnson added. "Before we even try to start the furnace."

"And I'd take a good look at the plumbing," Cox added, "but I wouldn't turn the water on until I was sure the furnace worked. You get a hard freeze, crack every pipe in the building."

"Like that," Andrew sighed. "The electricity works, there're lights in every room – ugly ones, but lights – wherever you want to start." He gestured, and Lily handed them each a clipboard. "I really appreciate your help."

"Hello? Hello?"

"Around to the kitchen," Lily called back.

In a moment, a skinny woman in a flowery skirt and matching hat came to the door. "Oh, there you are, I wasn't sure how I got in." She stepped into the kitchen. "I'm Penny Gambrell," she said, holding her hand out to Lily. "You must be Mrs. Rowan."

"Lily," the woman corrected easily, shaking the hand. "It's nice to meet you. This is my husband, Andrew." The woman turned and shook with him as well. "You know these two, I think."

"Oh, of course, of course." The woman turned back to Lily. "Lily, is it? I thought Gary Barnes said it was Eileen. The man is terrible with names."

"It's Eileen legally," Lily answered smoothly. "But everyone's always called me Lily. My sister is only a year older than me, and she couldn't say Eileen, she called me Li-Li, and it stuck. And since her name was Rose, of course everybody assumed … I'm babbling."

Penny smiled her understanding and looked around the kitchen. "My word."

"We know," Andrew said grimly. "It's a mess."

"Oh, no. Well, yes, but look at the size of it. The possibilities are … are … oh, my."

Lily grinned. "Oh, good, somebody with a positive outlook."

"I love the stainless steel. That will be so easy to care for. But the rest of it … oh, they painted the woodwork."

"All of it," Lily answered. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Penny grinned. "I've always wanted to see the inside of this house."

They started out of the kitchen. "Careful on the steps," Andrew called after them.

"Yes, dear," Lily answered, exasperated.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Penny promised. And to Lily, "When is your baby due?"

"First of November."

As the women left the kitchen, Andrew shook his head and turned his attention back to the men. "So? Where do we start?"

"Basement," they said in unison.

They headed down. "When are you planning on moving in?" Johnson asked.

Andrew hesitated. "Well, _I_ was planning on moving in after Christmas. But my wife thinks we should move in today."

Cox nodded thoughtfully. "Mama Bear wants her own den."

"You have kids," Andrew guessed.

"Seven."

"Ah."

"And I will tell you, friend, once a woman's that far along, there is no arguing with her. She wants to move in today, you better find a way to make it happen soon."

Andrew groped for the light switch and looked around the dank basement. "I told her we'd see what we could do."

The local men shared a look. Older man, first-time father, utterly besotted with his pretty young wife. Whipped, they thought, but they also understood. They had wives and children themselves.

"Can you recommend an obstetrician?" Andrew asked.

"Zivitz," Cox replied simply. "Only one my wife will see. Holy Mother of God." This last was directed at the furnace, a hulking, greasy, foreboding mass of metal.

Andrew stepped back and let the two experts go over the thing.

* * *

"Zivitz," Penny Gambrell said. "Only one worth a damn. Call him up, he'll fit you right in."

"He'll need to," Lily said, ruefully patting her belly.

"I have to say, I admire your courage, moving when you're this far along."

Lily shrugged. "We were going to stay in our apartment, look for a house next summer. But I found this place in a guidebook and I had to see it – the name, you know – and then when we found out it was for sale …we had to have it. I mean, right now it looks like hell, but it could be so beautiful."

"Oh, my, yes," Penny said. She looked over the enormous living room. The Coast Guard had used it for an office, to judge from the indentations on the carpet and the number of wall outlets. "It could be spectacular. The carpet has to go, of course."

"Absolutely. I'm almost afraid to look under it."

"Hardwood floors," Penny guessed. She walked to a corner where the carpet was loose. "Shall we?"

"Go ahead."

The woman grasped the carpet and pulled sharply. Beneath, under a layer of dust, was an oak floor.

"Who would carpet over such a beautiful floor?" Penny asked.

"Who would paint the woodwork?" Lily answered with a sigh.

They shook their heads together. "Men!"

* * *

"You have lots of furniture to move?"

Andrew shook his head. "My ex got both houses and everything in them. Lily has a few good pieces from her apartment, but other than that, just clothes and books and such. We'll get a little truck, maybe find somebody here to help unload it. What I'd like to find is some really good antiques."

"Penny knows every antique shop for a hundred miles," Johnson assured him. "If you've got the cash, she'll find you the furniture."

Andrew smiled fleetingly. "The ex got half of everything she _knew_ I had," he answered serenely. "We can afford furniture."

* * *

"Lots of bedrooms," Penny mused. "Are you planning more children?"

"As many as we can manage," Lily answered. She smiled, self-conscious. "Of course, that answer may change once this one gets here."

"Oh, you'll do just fine. Do you have nursery things yet?"`

"A few, all in the boxes. Andrew's pretty good at putting things together, though."

"And are we painting the nursery pink or blue?"

"This one's a girl, but I'm thinking we'll paint the nursery green. Kind of a jungle theme."

Penny nodded wisely. "That's probably best."

* * *

"Will you be looking for work?" Johnson asked.

Andrew shook his head firmly. "I'm retired and I plan to stay that way."

"What business were you in?"

"International commodities." The man looked at him blankly. "Corporate acquisitions, international money markets, foreign bonds, oil options. And information, of course. Basically, moving money across borders."

Johnson nodded, rather uncertainly. "Good living in that?"

"Very good living," Andrew allowed, "if you're willing to devote your life to it 24/7."

"That why your first wife left you?" Cox asked casually.

"Nope," Andrew answered, just as easily. "She left when I decided there were more important things than money."

* * *

"What a beautiful emerald," Penny said. "It's real, isn't it? You can tell by the way it shines. I've never seen one that size."

Lily touched the stone at her throat, blushed a little. "It was an engagement gift."

"Your husband has very good taste. Have you been married long?"

Lily shook her head. "A year, Christmas eve."

"Oh." Lily could see Penny doing the math in her head. "A honeymoon baby, then. They're supposed to be very lucky, you know."

"I think I'm already the luckiest woman in the world."

Penny reeled in her tape measure. "It'll take acres of lace, you know, but I think it's a good instinct."

"Something pretty heavy," Lily answered. "Substantial, not wispy." She shook her head. "I just wonder if I'm going to want to block more light, though. It's so hard to tell with the plywood up."

Penny cocked her head at the window. "Well, why not go with something simple, like roller shades? If you want to sleep in, you pull them down, if you're up, they're out of sight."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "That would work. If we put curtains on the French doors, they're always going to be shut in the doors."

"You'll need to put a rod top and bottom, café rods. They won't be all free-floating, but they won't get torn up, either. She turned to measuring the doors. "At least they're all the same size throughout the house."

"Are you sure?"

Penny looked at her, laughed. "No, actually I'm not." She measured the next window. "Where'd you meet him, anyhow? Your husband? He's very handsome."

"I used to work for him."

* * *

"She was my assistant," Andrew explained, peering into the crawl space where Cox had wriggled to examine the underside of the roof. Johnson had elected to stay in the stairwell. "Smart, efficient … decorative. She was my right hand. My wife couldn't stand her. I never saw what the problem was. She was just Lily."

"Until she wasn't," Johnson offered.

Andrew sighed. "I had a stroke. Couple years ago, now. Just a small one, not very serious. But I laid on the floor of my office all night before anyone found me. I had a lot of time to think." He hesitated, but the mayor was listening, curious. "I had this fancy job, fancy office, huge salary, two elegant houses, three cars, _very_ elegant wife – and I didn't care about any of it. The only thing I really loved in my whole life was my assistant."

He could see the man's grudging understanding: Mid-life crises, in a big way. He almost smiled. That had been exactly what he wanted him to think. Hell, it was mostly true. "So I quit the job, gave the houses and the cars to the wife to get rid of her, left town and married Lily. And this past year has been the best year of my life."

"You're screwed," Cox announced.

"Pardon?"

The contractor squirmed back out of the crawl space. "Not your wife. Your roof. You're screwed. The underlayment is soaked. One more good rain and it's going to start dripping through to the ceilings."

"Damn."

* * *

"So what was _she_ like?" Penny asked.

Lily hesitated for a long moment. "She was a … difficult woman," she finally said, diplomatically. "High-maintenance. And arrogant. She treated me like I was the hired help – which I was. But she treated Andrew like the hired help, too."

"She was a bitch," Penny surmised.

"Yes. Thank you. I wasn't going to say that, but yes."

"I suppose you're smart not to criticize her."

Lily nodded. "He stayed married to her for twenty-five years. There must have been something there at one time. But all the time I was with him, she never gave a damn about what he wanted, what would make him happy. It was all about her, her needs, her demands."

"Do they have children?"

"No. Would have ruined her country-club figure." Lily looked around. "He gave her way too much in the divorce, but he just wanted it over with. And there were assets she didn't know about. She doesn't know about us, that we're married, that we're starting a family. If she ever found out that he was actually happy …" She shuddered. "A bitch. That about sums it up."

* * *

"So you're hiding out in the sticks from your ex-wife?" Cox teased gently.

Andrew shook his head. "We wanted a small town to raise the children in. You know, where you know their playmates' parents, where you can sit on the porch after dark, like that. And Lily's always wanted to live on the ocean. Once she saw this house …" He hesitated. "But if my ex never found out where we were, I think we'd all be a lot happier."

Johnson slapped him on the back. "Friend, you have found the right place to disappear to."

* * *

They sat on the porch steps, the owners and the experts, and compiled their lists. "It's got to start with the furnace," Cox said firmly. "It's September already, I wouldn't bet the whole house on the weather holding."

"How soon can you get a furnace in?" Andrew asked. He reached around his wife, quite unconsciously, and rubbed the small of her back.

"Getting it in is no problem, we could install it in a day or two. Getting it _here_ is the trick. As big as this house is, it'll need some – well, maybe commercial. I might be able to get one delivered in ninety days, but I can't see much less than that."

Lily sighed and looked off towards the sea.

"What about the playhouse?" Penny asked.

"What?"

"We had a theatre in town, a playhouse. Strictly amateur, you understand, the local group and the high school drama club. But it burned down last year."

"Hell of a thing," Johnson added, shaking his head. "One of the stage lights fell during a show, got tangled in the curtain. Everybody got out okay, but they couldn't save the building."

"Are they going to rebuild?" Andrew asked.

"Sure, sure. Soon as the insurance gets sorted out. Probably break ground in the spring."

"But the basement didn't burn," Penny continued, a bit miffed at the interruption. "They salvaged a lot of the equipment."

Cox shook his head. "For all the good it did them. The insurance company won't let them put the old equipment back in the new building."

"So where's the furnace now?" Penny demanded. "It was only two years old. I know it was, I worked on the fundraiser to replace it."

The mayor and the contractor shared a look. "It's got to be in that storage garage," Johnson said quietly. "I don't think anybody even looked at it."

"I did," Cox answered. "I disconnected it for them before they hauled it out." He considered for a long moment. "It's plenty big enough. And Penny's right, it's nearly new."

"Could we buy it?" Andrew asked.

Johnson shrugged. "Have to get it past the council, but I don't see why not. They're not going to be able to use it for anything else."

"Save you some money over buying new," Penny encouraged, "and the drama club could use the money they do get."

Andrew shared a look with his wife. "Let's do it," he said. "Now what about the roof?"

"Four men, four days," Cox answered efficiently. "There's only one layer up there, we don't have to do a tear-off."

"Do it," Andrew said. "Let's get that much done, and then we'll see where we are with the plumbing and such."

"Oh," Penny said, "and that will give us time to shop for furniture. And curtains. And pick paint colors …"

Lily leaned back just a little against her husband's hand. They shared a look, gentle mischief dancing in their eyes. Just like the old days. Pay the pros and turn them loose.

The house was theirs.


	5. Chapter 5

The waiting room of Dr. Zivitz' office was empty. Andrew coiled, suspecting an ambush. But no gunmen appeared. Instead, the receptionist stood up behind the counter. "Mrs. Rowan? Mr. Rowan? Come right in."

Andrew leaned against the counter. "Kinda empty in here."

"Oh, we never schedule appointments until after ten. Doctor likes to keep the early morning open for emergencies. Not that you're an emergency, of course, I don't mean that, but, well, you're a special case, of course. We usually see ladies way before this."

Lily shrugged apologetically. "I brought copies of my records," she said helpfully. She handed over the manila folder. It documented, accurately, every one of her prenatal visits. But in a deal worked through Dyson's contacts, the records had all been transcribed onto the forms of an obstetrician from Toronto. The medical details were intact, but there was nothing to show that Lily had seen doctors in cities from New York to Rio de Janero.

If asked, the obliging doctor would provide the originals of the records.

"Oh, terrific," the receptionist said. "These will be a big help. Come on back." She gestured towards the door at the side of the desk.

Still uneasy, Andrew moved ahead of Lily and opened the door for her. He took a quick look around, but there was nothing to alarm him. A nurse, a hallway, closed doors. He didn't like the closed doors.

Lily touched his hand. "What is it?" she asked softly.

Andrew shook his head. "Just nerves. Habits."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "We're okay, _kedves_."

"I know."

The receptionist showed them into a room. Andrew had expected it to be an exam room; instead, it was Zivitz' office. The doctor himself stood up and came around the desk to shake hands with them. He was a perfectly average man, perhaps seventy years old, who moved like he was much younger. A distance runner, Andrew knew instantly, and a devoted one.

He liked the doctor instantly, not least because he came all the way around and held Lily's chair for her.

When they were all settled again, the doctor folded his hands on top of the manila folder without opening it. "I'm glad to meet you." And directly to Lily, "How do you feel?"

She blinked, startled. "Good. I feel good."

Zivitz nodded. "Good. That's the best indicator we have of how things are going." He turned to Andrew. "And how are you doing?"

Andrew was more startled than his wife had been. "I … uh … a little overwhelmed, frankly."

"Understandable. This is your first?"

They both nodded.

"And you bought the Octagon House." The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I could recommend a good psychiatrist, but I don't think even expert testimony will get you out of that contract. When are you moving in?" he continued.

"We're testing the new furnace today," Lily answered. "We can't do much of anything else unless that works."

"Good luck with that. Lord knows that house needs a family in it."

Lily and Andrew shared a look. They liked him, both of them, very much.

As if he sensed that they were now comfortable with him, Zivitz opened the medical file.

* * *

The house was sweltering.

Andrew held the door open and followed Lily into the kitchen. Cox was standing at the sink, watching the water run, in his t-shirt, sweating. "Hey!" he grinned. "The furnace works!"

"I can tell," Andrew answered, peeling off his windbreaker. "Excellent. How's the water?"

"Looks okay so far. I've been through the house once, haven't found any leaks. I'm going to go turn on all the bathrooms now, one at a time." Above them, muffled by the second floor, there was hammering on the roof. "They're finishing the edges up there now, should be done by the end of the day."

"I could kiss you," Lily said.

"Maybe sometime when your husband isn't around," he teased.

"Hell," Andrew said, "I could kiss you, too."

The contractor regarded them warily. He'd known the Rowans for a week; he knew they were just a bit unpredictable. "I'll pass, thanks. How'd it go with Zivitz?"

"Fine. You're right, I like him." Andrew scratched at his chin with both hands; he was already sweating under his beard.

"Yeah. He doesn't treat dads like second-class citizens. The baby's okay?"

"She's fine," Lily answered.

"She's small," Andrew countered. "Still. More milk, he says."

Cox grinned. "Four big glasses a day, whether Mom wants them or not. He tells that to all the dads. I think it's to make us feel useful." He gestured to the sink. "Leave this run. I'm going to go see about the bathrooms."

As he left the kitchen, Lily moved into Andrew's arms. "Well," he rumbled, "heat and lights and water and a roof. When do you want to move in?"

"Today," she said promptly.

"Saturday?" he countered.

"Saturday's good," she answered. "I love this, you know. This house, this town, all of it."

"Worth the risk?" he asked.

She hid her face against his shoulder. "I love this life with you."

He rocked her gently. "I think we're going to be very happy here. Very busy, but very happy."

"Hmmmm," Lily purred.

"One condition, though." She leaned back to look at him. "We will not move into this house, Saturday or any other day, unless you promise me you won't overdo things."

"I won't," she said lightly.

Andrew shook his head. "Not good enough. The most important thing right now is not getting the curtains hung, or the walls painted, or anything else. It's growing this baby for another six weeks. It's keeping her and you safe. Understand?"

She studied his eyes solemnly for a moment. "I promise," she said.

"Good." He drew her close again.

From the hallway, they heard a toilet flush, and a contractor cheer.

* * *

"I must have it," Lily said.

"I thought that the minute I saw it," Penny answered.

They were standing in an antique story, the fourth they'd visited that afternoon, looking at a small, beautiful oak dining table.

"It expands, of course, but the leaves are missing," the shop owner explained.

Lily shook her head absently. As it was, without the leaves, the table had eight sides. "We wouldn't use it in the dining room anyhow."

"The atrium," Penny said with certainty.

"Right in the center," Lily confirmed. "Except at Christmas, when we put a tree there."

"It would be wonderful if we could find an octagon area rug to go under it."

Lily shrugged. "Down the road, if we can't find one, maybe we'll have one made." She sighed. "I don't know what we're going to do about that god-awful carpet."

"Tear it up," Penny answered, "and wash the floors down. You can refinish them later. It'd be easier than trying to clean all that ugly carpet, anyhow."

"I suppose. Just, between that and the windows and painting the walls – we won't even start on stripping the woodwork – we're looking at about five hundred man-hours just to have a place to start." She looked towards the shop owner. "I want the table."

"And the chairs?"

"Let's see them."

He led the ladies towards the back of the store. Along the way they also picked out a huge mirror with a wide gilt frame and a light fixture with an ornate stained glass shade. "Can you deliver these?" Lily asked.

"Sure. Where to?"

"The Octagon House at Rowan Light. On Saturday."

The man did a double-take. "Oh, you're Mrs. _Rowan_," he said, his manner warming significantly. "It's _so_ nice to meet you."

Lily flashed her most winning smile. "Thank you." A week since they bought the house, and everybody knew them, knew their story – or, rather, knew the story the Rowans had told. It was exactly what she and Andrew had wanted.

The front door of the shop open, its bell clanking unmelodically. The shop owner scowled at two teenage girls who had come in. "I'll be right back," he said. "The chairs are right there, and anything else you'd like to look at."

Lily examined the chairs. They were rather plain straight-backed dining rooms chairs with padded seats, well-worn and not very attractive. They clearly did not go with the table. "I don't think so," she said.

Penny was staring towards the front of the shop, where the teenagers were hanging a poster in the front window with the shop owner's tape. "Hmmm?"

"What is it?" Lily asked.

"Oh, sorry," Penny said. "I was just thinking … band kids."

"Band kids."

Penny gestured towards the departing girls. "Band kids. They're always looking for ways to raise money. Car washes, bake sales, all that."

"Yes?"

"Well, you need five hundred man-hours. But most of it isn't skilled labor, it's just … labor. You and Andrew, two hundred fifty hours apiece. Or a hundred band kids for half a day. For a donation."

"It'd be worth the donation," Lily said. "But do you even _have_ a hundred band kids?"

"No," Penny admitted. "But between the band and the football team, the wrestlers, the soccer team … and of course, if you get the kids, you get some of the parents. People are dying to see the inside of that house, you know. It's just a question of whether you want to open the whole place to the whole town."

"For one day?" Lily said. "I'll have to run it by Andrew, but for one day I think we could do it."

She nodded thoughtfully. She already knew what her husband would say. For one day, to get their story told throughout the community, to make themselves known as they wanted to be known in Broken Harbor, absolutely. And if they got the awful carpet removed in the process, so much the better.

* * *

They went, at Zivitz' not-very-gentle urging, to their first childbirth class on Wednesday afternoon. It was a small, informal gathering, two other couples, both younger and less imminently expectant, and Dr. Zivitz' nurse, who was also his wife. Laura was a straightforward, practical woman, and she was at least thirty years younger than her husband.

After class they drove south, out of town. They told Penny and Cox and Johnson they were packing up the last few things from their apartment. There was, of course, no such apartment to pack up. They drove far enough to be sure they wouldn't bump into any locals and rented a small moving truck through the weekend. At a small chain hotel, they checked in under a new false name, just to be on the safe side, and paid extra for space to park the truck. They had dinner at a non-descript restaurant. And then they took the truck and went shopping.

The first night they went to a large children's store for nursery furniture. It could all be brand-new, in the boxes; no one in their new home would be surprised at that. They had a list, a hand-out from Laura's class. "Cribs first," Andrew decreed, and they walked to the furniture section of the enormous store.

There were, he guessed conservatively, a hundred cribs on display.

Lily simply stopped, her hands at her sides, and stared.

"You all right?" he asked. He put one arm around her.

"Whhhh," she answered.

"Lily?"

"We're going to buy a crib," she said, very softly.

"Yes."

"To put in our great big house."

"Yes."

"And put our baby in it."

"Lily, are you all right?"

She turned to him, her eyes glittering. "We're going to have a _baby_."

Andrew blinked. "Yes, love, we've known that for a while now," he said carefully.

"No," Lily answered. "I knew I was carrying your baby. I knew she was _here_." She patted her belly. "But the difference between having her in _here_ and having her in _there_ …" she gestured to the nearest crib, "…that's a whole different thing."

"Did you think you were going to be pregnant forever?" her husband asked, still skating gently through the whole bewildering conversation.

"Subjectively, I already _have_ been pregnant forever," Lily replied simply.

Andrew regarded her gravely. "You're starting to worry me."

Lily laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm not going insane, really. I'm not. It's just … I don't know. Just … look at this list. This baby's going to be here in five weeks, more or less, and we haven't bought a damn thing for her."

"Well, except for an enormous house on the water."

"There is that," she allowed. "I'm just … I'm sorry, I'm a little overwhelmed."

Andrew smiled and kissed her. "Would you feel better if we had a place for her to sleep?"

"I would, yes."

"Then pick one." He gestured around them. "We'll start here, we'll get everything on the list, and that'll be one less thing to worry about."

Lily sighed. "You are so wonderfully practical sometimes."

He grinned. "You think that's practical? Try this. I think we should buy two of everything and set up a day nursery downstairs."

"Ahhh. Can we do that?"

Andrew put his slender fingers on her cheek and leaned closer. "Lily, my love," he whispered, "we can do anything we want."


	6. Chapter 6

They returned to the Octagon House early Saturday morning. Lily drove ahead in the sedan, and Andrew followed with the moving truck. It was fairly full of things they'd acquired out of town, most of it used: clothes, books, bedding, a few good pieces of furniture, a television, a stereo, a few boxes of papers and knick-knacks, winter coats, shoes and boots, and a fairly impressive collection of used dishes and kitchen implements, most packed in mismatched boxes, with a dozen brand new boxes from the moving company thrown in. In the nose of the truck was a complete new nursery set, and enough to spare for the day nursery. It had taken them all of the time they'd had, and trips to a dozen thrift stores and two flea markets. The load looked, as intended, as if the Rowans had packed up everything worth keeping in their modest little apartment.

They parked both vehicles just inside the wall on the newly-cut grass to the south of the house. The yard still looked like hell; it had been cut with a commercial tractor, but it would take a year of care before the grass could be classified as 'lawn' rather than 'pasture'. It was at the moment just tipped with frost; by the time the sun was fully up it would vanish. On the far side of the house, Cox had had a full-size dumpster delivered. The plywood over the windows, they had decided, could be burned, but the carpet was probably toxic.

The Octagon House, boarded and decrepit, looked sad in the early light.

Lily stood beside the car and looked up at it. Andrew joined her. He felt again the gnawing notion that they'd taken on too much. He could not imagine how, in the space of one day, this house could be habitable. He could not imagine Lily sleeping in this house tonight. Never mind that Lily had, in the past, slept in ditches in freezing rain under mortar fire. That was a different life, and a different Lily. There were standards now that he would not allow her to slip below.

He sighed heavily. He knew how much she wanted to be in their new home today. But it seemed impossible.

Lily squeezed his hand. "Let's go look at our ocean," she said.

Andrew nodded. They walked around the house and down the gentlest slope to the sea. The waves were fairly flat, lapping politely at the shore before retreating, returning, retreating, as they had for a thousand years and more. As they would long after the Octagon House had crumbled to dust.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the salt air. The ever-present breeze brushed through his hair, tickled into his beard. Lily's hand was warm and firm in his. If she had any qualms about this move, about this house, they didn't show. Lily had her ocean, at last, and everything else was gravy.

It didn't matter to her, he knew, if they had to sleep on cots in the kitchen and eat out of tin cans. Nothing mattered to her but that they were together in their house by the sea.

Their home. And if it didn't look like he wanted their home to look for a year or two, no matter. Their home was where they were together. The house was just a building.

"Better?" she asked quietly.

"Better," Andrew breathed. It would become their home, today. It was not impossible. Nothing was impossible, not with Lily beside him.

"Hello, neighbors!" Cox yelled from the top of the hill. "Are we ready to move in or what?"

* * *

They checked their lists. The chimneys had been cleaned and checked. The plumbing had been checked and re-checked; the hot water was consistently hot. The roof was tight, and the underlyment drying out nicely. The exterminator had been through twice. No bugs, lots of mice. "I'd get a cat or two," Cox advised. "Out here in this field, you're always going to have mice trying to sneak in."

The Rowans exchanged a look. "I like cats," Lily said.

"Once we get settled," her husband agreed.

Back to the lists. Cox had brought five-gallon buckets of heavy cover paint, and all the equipment needed. He'd also brought new lock sets for all the doors, with matching keys. He'd checked all the wiring in the house and was satisfied that it was safe. "And I got the washer and dryer in yesterday."

"In where?" Lily asked.

"In the pantry, where you wanted it," Cox answered.

"I did?"

"Ah." The contractor pointed at her husband. "He said you did."

Andrew shrugged. "I didn't want you running up and down those basement stairs to wash my shirts."

"You didn't want _me_ running up and down those stairs? What makes you think _I'm_ going to be doing the laundry?"

"Well, now it's convenient, you might as well do it. While you're making my dinner. Barefoot. Pregnant. In the kitchen." He patted her ass fondly. "Right, love?"

"Uh-huh," Lily said, laughing. "Or you can do the laundry while you're making my dinner, while I sit with my bare pregnant feet on the couch."

"That's how it always is at my house," Cox said wearily. "Anyhow, the washer and dryer are in, and you can figure out who runs them later. Oh, and the mammoth dishwasher the coast guard installed still works. Go figure." He glanced at his watch. "I told the band kids to be here at ten. It's almost nine, I'd expect people to start showing up any minute."

"Oh, it's that kind of town, is it?" Andrew ventured.

"I said there'd be food."

"You better get them shoes off and get cooking then," Rowan teased his wife.

"No, no, don't worry about that," Cox said. "We've got it handled. Everything's taken care of. You just stay here and direct traffic."

Lily sighed. "Why are the good ones always married?" she mused.

"I thought we'd better start on the top floor with the windows. The walkway should be solid enough, it's treated lumber, but I don't want any school kids up there until we check it, fix that rail."

"Agreed," Andrew said. He turned and considered the house. "The master suite, I think. You brought hammers?"

"I got 'em."

"Let's get to it, then."

The three of them went around to the kitchen door, then climbed resolutely to the dark bedroom. The French doors swung inward rather than out, because they would have blocked the narrow walk otherwise. Andrew opened them almost reverently and considered the plywood that covered the opening.

"I was thinking we might need to …" Cox began.

He stopped, because Andrew had dropped back four steps, charged the wood, and crashed against it with his shoulder. The wood cracked and the nails groaned. It did not open cleanly, but a space about four inches wide opened between the house and the plywood. He flattened his hands and shoved, and the wood gave further. Cox joined him for the next push. The nails screamed in protest as they were forced from their ten-year beds in the doorframe. Then they gave up. The sheet of plywood teetered, then fell, flipped over the railing and crashed into the yard below.

For the first time in a decade, morning light filtered into the bedroom. Cool fresh air washed into the house.

Andrew examined the view, then turned and held his arm out to his wife. "Come here."

She joined him. "There," he said, gesturing to the sea that lay calmly beneath their gaze. "Is that what you had in mind?"

Lily nodded, swallowed. "That's it exactly."

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "Because we are never moving again."

They all heard the car – perhaps a truck – on the road, then on the broken driveway. "Help's here," Cox said.

"Let's go get them organized," Andrew answered, "and then let's get this old girl opened up."

* * *

Penny Gambrell had been right: When they got the band kids, they got the parents.

In fact, they got the parents first.

"I'm Heather, this is Gina," the first woman out of the car said. "We brought the breakfast things. Where shall we set up?"

"Hi, I'm Lily, and I have no idea."

"Operations insides," Cox said, "food outside. It's going to be a nice day. You bring tables?"

"Of course."

The men unloaded two folding tables from the van and set them up on the grass a clear distance from the house. "You handle this," Andrew instructed. "I've got windows to open." He trotted back towards the house, with Cox almost as eager at his side.

"I'm dying to see the house," Joan said.

"It's horrible," Lily answered. "But go ahead, if you like. The kitchen door is open."

'We really should set up first …"

"I'll start setting up," Lily said. "Go, see."

By the time the first two got back, there were three more mothers and two fathers. "It's not that bad," Heather said. "You'll see, by the end of the day you won't know the place."

There was a crashing noise from the rear of the house, and another piece of plywood landed in the yard and broke.

"Oh, my," one of the newcomers said.

"We better go help them," one of the fathers said eagerly.

The men ran off. "Something about men and demolition," Lily mused. She shook her head. "I'm Lily Rowan. The kitchen door's around that way, go have a look around."

"Oh, can we? I've been dying to see the inside."

Lily watched them go. There was another crash from the back of the house. She opened a box, took out a doughnut, still warm to the touch, and took a thoughtful bite.

It was going to be a damned interesting day.

* * *

Teenagers arrived: band kids, wrestlers, chess players, football players, cheerleaders, and kids with curious parents. Universally, they wanted to take a look around, and Lily sent them. Andrew and Cox organized them loosely into teams: carpet, sweeping, washing, taping, painting. Only adults were allowed out on the widow's walk, but the bigger boys went to work on the downstairs windows.

Douglas Miller, a reporter from the local paper showed up before the doughnuts ran out. The paper was a weekly, so small that Doug had brought his own camera. "It's a big deal," he said eagerly. "We're going to do a whole center-page spread."

"Ahhhh," Andrew said. "Let's, uh, let's go have a word about that, shall we?"

"I know what you're going to say, Mr. Rowan. Cox told me all about the situation with your ex. And I got three of my own, exes, that is, so I totally sympathize."

"Good."

"So here's what I was thinking. I'll take a bunch of pictures of the house, before and after, and the kids. Parents will buy the issue like crazy just because their kids are in it. And then I thought maybe one of you and Mrs. Rowan in silhouette, maybe against the sunset. I'll even keep your name out of it, if you want. New owners of the Rowan Octagon House, something like that."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully. He didn't like it much, but there was no getting around it. Opening the house _was_ a big deal to this town. There was no chance of keeping it out of the paper. Their cover story was good enough. "Maybe you could let us, you know, look it over before it goes to press?"

Miller considered. "I wouldn't usually do that, but … yeah, okay."

"Just to make sure there's nothing that would tip her off."

"You got it, Mr. Rowan."

"Andrew. Welcome to the Octagon House."

* * *

The first carpet came up in a cloud of dust. Everyone in the room coughed, including Lily. Andrew took her arm firmly. "Okay, look," he said. He pointed to where the bare floor was visible. "Lovely hardwood floors, just as expected. Now go down to the kitchen and shut the door. All this dust cannot be good for you and her."

"I'll be fine," Lily protested. "I'm not an invalid." Then she coughed, hard enough to double her over.

Penny Gambrell took her other arm. "He's right, Lily. Come on, we've got that whole kitchen to clean and set up anyhow. And I want to get my camera and take some pictures of the work in progress."

"Okay, fine," Lily snapped. She let Penny lead her out to the hall.

"Lily," Andrew called. She waited, and he joined her. Penny stepped off a bit as the man took his wife in his arms, murmured something in her ear. She listened, then nodded, kissed him on the cheek.

"Awww," Penny said softly.

There were twenty-two people in the atrium who witnessed this little exchange, and all of them were sure they understood these newcomers to their community perfectly. Older husband, rich and retired; pretty younger secretary-turned-second-wife; a little friction over the new house and the new baby, but clearly very infatuated with each other. Sweet and a little crazy, and nothing very out of the ordinary.

Their story was already becoming part of the lore of Broken Harbor.

* * *

Despite the size of the kitchen, eleven women and three girls made fairly short work of getting it clean.

The newly opened windows filled the room with light and made it easy to see the dirt. They cleaned all the appliances and got them running, then washed and lined every shelf in the kitchen and pantry, scoured down every countertop, borrowed a roller from the painting crews and washed the ceiling and floors. Then they got out the bleach and tackled the linoleum.

"It won't come clean," Penny said, "but at least it will be sanitary."

"Good enough for now," Lily answered.

Andrew came in from the hallway. "Lily, are you … wow. This looks better."

"Clean enough to eat off of," one of the ladies promised. "Speaking of which, weren't there supposed to be pizzas?"

"They'll be here in about half an hour," Penny answered.

"You're keeping track of all your expenses, right?" Andrew asked. "We want to pay you back for everything."

"We'll let you know," Heather promised.

"You could have just charged for the tours," one of the other ladies answered. "You'd have come out ahead."

Andrew shook his head. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate the help. Can I borrow my wife for a minute?"

"Just for a minute."

He took Lily's hand. "Come with me. I have something I want you to see."

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her belly with her free hand, "that's how we got into this mess in the first place."

Andrew laughed. "Come on." He led her out the back door into the yard. "Close your eyes."

"Uhh … no."

"Trust me."

"No, wait, _that's_ how we got into this mess."

He put his arm firmly around her shoulder. "Close your eyes."

Lily sighed, but did as he asked. He guided her carefully through the rough grass to the road and turned her around. "Okay, now," he said.

She opened her eyes.

Before her, the Octagon House stood unwrapped. Every window was open, every set of doors. The house was itself again. The house was alive.

It needed paint, boards replaced, rails repaired. But the Octagon House was beautiful.

"Oh."

Andrew nodded. "Yes."

"It's beautiful."

"A beautiful house for my beautiful wife."

"Andrew …"

"Lily?"

She didn't answer. She just turned around and kissed him, deeply.

"Hey, you two!" Cox called from the upper window, "Get a room!"

"I got a whole bunch of rooms," Andrew shouted back, "but they'll all full of people!" He led his wife onto the front porch. "Mrs. Rowan, would you like to see your house?"

"I would." She stepped towards the door.

He took her arm and stopped her. Then he swung her up into his arms and carried her across the threshold, through the front hall and into the atrium.

"Put me down," Lily protested. "I weigh a ton."

"No, you don't." He deposited her gently onto her feet. "I could carry you all day if I had to."

She turned slowly, all the way around. From every doorway, light flooded into the center of the house. "Andrew …" she began, and then stopped.

"I know."

She held both his hands, very hard. "If I had a bed, I'd have to go hide under it."

He regarded her with calm concern. Her hands were like ice. "We could walk down to the beach for a minute."

Lily swallowed hard, nodded. "Just for a minute."


	7. Chapter 7

"Mr. Rowan?"

Andrew turned. Behind him were four young men, teenagers, all taller than him, all broader in the shoulders, all clean-cut and nervous looking. "Gentlemen?"

"We were wondering," the blond in front said, "that is, the team … um. We used to play some football over there." He pointed to the vacant field on the far side of the road. "You know, just pick-up games, weekends and whatever."

He'd already known about the playing field; Cox had told him a week ago. He and Lily had decided at once to let the boys continue to use it. For one there, thing was probably no stopping them, short of sitting on the porch with a big stick day and night. For another, they wanted to befriend the local population, not antagonize them. The house was remote enough to be a prime target for disgruntled teens, but it was unlikely they'd vandalize a place where they were welcome to hang out. Third, it wouldn't be too many years before their daughter – and presumably other Rowan children – would be teens themselves; it would be both convenient and comforting to have them loitering right across the road.

And last, but perhaps most important, Andrew and Lily both knew that in any community the teens were the best source of information. Anyone who came to town looking for information about the Rowans, maybe showing pictures around, was sure to attract the attention of the younger residents. If they were friends, welcome at the Octagon House, they were likely to pass the news on. "Hey, Mr. Rowan, there's this guy here at the diner asking questions, I think maybe your ex-wife sent him …" It was a long shot, but it was a little extra insurance that was cheap enough to buy.

He shook his head sadly. "Sorry, boys, but my knees are shot. I'm afraid my football-playing days are long over."

They laughed uneasily. "No, what we meant is …"

A slightly shorter red-head spoke up. "We were wondering if it would still be okay for us to play there. I mean, nobody cared when nobody lived here, but now, we thought we should ask."

"I see." Andrew put his hands on his hips and considered the area. "Well, I don't see why not," he finally said. "But no drugs or drinking, nothing like that."

"No, sir," they agreed quickly.

"I'll put a trash barrel over there by the road. No leaving junk all over the place."

They nodded again.

He considered each of them.

"No girls past second base."

This brought blushes and nervous laughter, but they agreed.

"I want your parents to know where you are," Andrew continued, "and I want you out of there by, oh, nine on school nights, ten during the breaks."

"That would be fine, sir." The blond had found his voice again.

He nodded. "All right, then. Wish I'd known before, I would have had them mow it down while they were here last week."

One of the boys from the back of the group spoke up. "I can bring my dad's tractor out and mow it tomorrow, if it's okay."

"I suppose that would be okay. After that we'll keep it cleaned up. Just make sure it's okay with your dad."

"I will."

Andrew nodded in satisfaction. "Sounds like we have a deal, gentlemen."

* * *

By two in the afternoon, the carpet was gone as well. The first delivery van arrived, bringing furniture from two of the many antique stores Lily and Penny had shopped at. They rounded up football players to unload them, and Lily stood at the front door, directing distribution. When they were done, they unloaded the truck she and Andrew had brought. Before that was finished, another truck arrived, this one with their new bedding set. And another with antique furniture.

With so many people helping, the unloading took very little time. Lily was aware that they had finished painting the upstairs and had started on the downstairs rooms. Cox came and asked if he should have someone assemble the cribs. There was hammering and drilling and a persistent whirring sound that puzzled her. When the last truck had been unloaded, she wandered through the atrium to the living room.

Half of her kitchen crew, and a dozen other women, were working on the bare, clean floor, cutting the acres of lace she'd special-ordered and hemming it into curtains. They had half a dozen girls acting as runners, carrying the finished pieces away, and Lily realized that the hammering was someone hanging curtain rods in every room. "Oh," she said softly.

"The upstairs is nearly done," one of the women said cheerily.

"I didn't expect you to do all this," Lily said. "I just thought … the windows and the carpet …"

"Oh, sweetie, we'll get you as settled as we can," Denise – or maybe Diane, Lily couldn't remember – said, sweeping past her with another curtain panel.

"You'll have enough to do," Joan assured her. "I'm going to see about the chicken."

"The … chicken?"

"We thought we'd fry chicken for supper. It only takes about half an hour."

"Oh."

Lily wandered out of the room and up the stairs. She walked to the nursery. The _nursery, _she thought, and window was open, and the fresh white curtain blew softly on the ocean air. The walls were stark white, gleaming with the cover coat of fresh paint. They'd put a coat of soft green on it in a week or so. The crib, neatly assembled, stood a careful distance from the wall. Various boxes from the baby store were stacked neatly nearby, also away from the walls. The new changing table had also been assembled, and sat next to an antique dresser and a beautiful old rocking chair.

Lily paused, considering the chair. She had not bought a rocking chair, and had not seen it come into the house.

She walked over to it and sank down slowly, bracing her round frame on its sturdy arms. Even without cushions, it was very comfortable. She sat back and closed her eyes, rocking slowly. Around her, the house still bustled.

"They made the bed," Andrew said quietly. "You could go lie down for a while."

Lily shook her head. "I'm okay. Just sitting for a moment, thinking about how much I love my husband."

Something crashed on the first floor. "Hold that thought," Andrew urged as he dashed out.

* * *

The bonfire roared as the sun set. For a moment, just for a moment: Andrew stood back and watched.

Marshmallows appeared on pointed sticks; they browned golden, they burned eager gooey fingers that should have been old enough to know better, and a few fell blackened into the fire. People mingled on the seaward side of the fire, out of the smoke, groups growing and contracting in talk and laughter. Other cars had arrived, bearing smaller children, older folk, more side dishes.

The fire was practical, but it was also symbolic. The days of the abandoned Octagon House were gone, irretrievably. There was no more wood to re-cover the windows. From here on the house would have to be filled with life, filled with children, filled with love. The community had gathered and made fire in celebration of it. There was no going back.

And in the midst of this new community – this welcoming, unexpected, undeserved community – in their embrace, in the firelight, stood his Lily.

Firelight, gold and red on her hair.

A lifetime ago, half a world away, he had fallen in love with her with firelight in her hair. It had been a very different world then. He had been a very different man. And Lily – Lily had been a girl still, smart and young and unafraid. Her fearlessness, more than anything else, had drawn him irresistibly to the flame of her being.

Time had changed her. Loving him had changed her. She had suffered torture and grief beyond reason. She had relinquished her fearlessness and regained her ability to live. And then she had risked everything she had for him. For their family. She stood now again in firelight, in the circle of warmth their new home had spun around her, older, more scarred, great with child, and happier than she had ever been in her life.

For a moment, just for a moment, Andrew stood back and watched. And fell in love all over again. With Lily, certainly, but it was more than that. With the woman she had become. With their child and the family she would make them. With the renewed old house and the ruin of the lighthouse, with the sea wind and the whisper of the surf, with the town and the fire and the fried chicken dinner. With the life that he and Lily had, against all odds, found for themselves.

For a moment, just for a moment, Andrew looked back. He had been very powerful. He had ruled all that he surveyed, in stealth and secrecy. He had been one of the most feared men in the world. And he had saved that world, once or twice.

He turned again, to look at the woman in the firelight. And then, laughing in sheer joy, he went to join her.

* * *

The muzzle flash lit the room.

Andrew Rowan, the man who had been Control, woke fully without moving.

Ten seconds passed before the soft echo of thunder reached him. Andrew stirred, sighed. Not gunfire. Only lightning.

The room flickered with soft orange light; the fire in the hearth was dying. It hadn't really been needed for warmth, but it had been lovely. A cool, salty breeze floated the white curtains like gentle ghosts. The night had been forecast mild and they'd left all the windows open; the smell of paint was fading under the gentle seduction of the ocean air.

Beside him, Lily breathed deeply, evenly in sleep.

Andrew slid out of the bed and walked to the French doors. He put his shoulder against the frame and watched the storm ten miles out to sea.

Around him, the house rested. It had been a busy day for the old lady. So many voices and footsteps, so much attention after so many silent years. They had made six months' worth of progress in a single day. But there was still so much to do. Paint the nursery first, pale green over the stark white base coat. Get that done and let Lily putter with setting it up. Then this room. They only had a third of the furniture they needed for this house, and a good percentage that was in the wrong place. There were boxes in every room, waiting to be unpacked.

On the long-term plan, there were miles of woodwork to be stripped and refinished, and acres of hardwood floor. Bricks, too, on every fireplace, needed to be restored. Replace the kitchen floor, soon. Rebuild the boat house and put in a dock, come spring. Put in some lights on the football field across the road, and outside the house.

There was the closed-off tunnel in the basement to be unblocked and checked and concealed. Access to the old lighthouse without breaking cover would be invaluable. He wanted motion sensors around the perimeter, too. Exterior lights. A plain old-fashioned burglar alarm. And a dog. Something large and loud and child-friendly. Keep the babies out of the ocean, and keep watch downstairs at night. Repair the rail on the widow's walk, maybe replace it with something solid for cover. Building hiding places for the guns, secure ones that no curious child could access. Acquire more guns, more ammo. A shotgun, sawed-off, last resort in here for Lily….

Lightning flashed. Of habit, Andrew counted to the thunder, a game he had learned as a small child. Eight miles and closing. He would need to go around and close the windows soon.

Below the house, the waves beat on the shore louder, faster. High overhead, the new lighthouse fired its reassuring, regular beam out over the sea, communing tamely with its wild cousin. The storm rolled closer. Seven miles now.

The waves, the wind, the storm.

And my daughter, he thought, floats in her own saltwater sea, safe and growing strong. She will come home to this house, she will be the first of many, and this house will be full of life and laughter, running feet and, inevitably, slamming doors. Her brothers and sisters will be conceived in this room – well, on these premises, he amended wryly – and her father, if he is lucky, will die in this bed, a contented old man surrounded by his children and grandchildren.

And his wife, his beautiful, brave wife, who had risked everything, everything for him.

The lightning flashed, and the thunder cracked instantly, unexpectedly close. Lily woke and came to his side. She did not speak, only slipped into his arms and held him, sharing the storm with him.

The waves, the wind, the storm.

And the safe harbor that the man who had been Control had never expected to find.


	8. Chapter 8

He had barely drifted awake when Lily slipped from the bed; she did that every few hours now. But when her absence lengthened, Andrew's long-honed sense of time snapped him awake. He lay perfectly still, listening. There was a faint, rhythmic creak from the next room. He felt a familiar clutch in the center of his chest: The thrill of action about to begin.

Perhaps.

Silently, he slid from the bed, grabbed his robe, and walked barefoot to the next room. Light from the full moon glowed through the lace curtains. He could see Lily's outline in the rocking chair, near the window, looking out towards the dark ocean. As he paused in the doorway, she said softly, "I'm fine."

"Hmmm." Andrew crossed the room and perched on the ottoman at her feet. "Sure?"

"My back hurts."

That, too, was common enough these days. "Want me to rub it for you?"

Lily shook her head. "It's okay. It comes and goes. It was just keeping me awake."

He reached over and placed his hand flat on her rounded belly. It was hard as far as his fingers could spread. "Comes and goes like contractions?"

"No. It's not really painful, just achy." While she spoke, her abdomen grew soft again. "I'm fine. You should go back to bed."

Andrew kept his hand where it was. "Ah, yes, because I have to get up early for work tomorrow." He shook his head, smiling, and glanced casually at the giraffe-shaped clock on the nursery wall. "I like being with you in the moonlight."

There was light-footed scampering in the hallway, three cats on the move. Then there was a startled squeak, a soft thud, and silence. After a moment, the three cats padded softly down the stairs.

"They're really good," Lily commented softly.

Andrew nodded. Two of the cats were half-grown and they were permanent household members. Their mother was on loan from Estella Potts, a stout and sensible woman who owned a farm five miles past the lighthouse. "You bring the mama cat for a time," she'd said, "and she'll get her girls all squared away, teach them all the hidey-holes. I never knew a cat as good a mouser as my Molly cat. I'll come get her in a few weeks." In ten days, Molly and her daughters had caught 23 mice – that they knew of – and two rats.

The cats graciously ate the mice they caught, leaving only the heads tidily beside their food dish in the kitchen.

Lily shifted a little, and her belly grew hard again. Andrew flicked his eyes towards the clock. Four minutes and four seconds had elapsed. The get-ready flutter in his chest flared again. "Sure they're not contractions?" he asked lightly.

She sighed. "They might be. I'd expect them to hurt more if they were real, though."

"You are due the day after tomorrow, you know."

Lily shrugged. "I don't think this is labor," she insisted.

After a moment, the hardness passed. They waited, this time in silence. The giraffe clock ticked, very softly. Through the open door, they could hear the big grandfather clock in the atrium ticking in its steady bass whisper.

Four minutes, to the second, and the curve over their child grew rock-hard again. "Okay," Lily admitted, "they _might_ be contractions."

"Uh-huh." Andrew stood up, still keeping his hand in place. "I'll help you get dressed."

"Go shower first," Lily advised. "I'll make you some breakfast."

"I don't want any breakfast."

"Even if it's false labor – and it probably is – they're going to keep us a while. You might as well eat something."

He frowned at her, perplexed. "Why are you not willing to admit that you're in labor?"

Lily shrugged again. "I just don't think I am. Go shower, let's wait a while and see what happens. I'll try walking a little. It'll probably stop."

"Stubborn woman," Andrew said, mostly to himself. "Stubborn, stubborn woman."

"Yeah, yeah. You knew that when you married me."

He helped her up; getting out of a chair, at this last stage of her pregnancy, had become a major production. They walked out to the balcony, back to their bedroom. "Shower, right," Andrew said. "God forbid I should stink while you're in labor." He went to the dresser and gathered clean clothes.

"I'm not in labor," Lily insisted.

He went into the bathroom, started to take his robe off. Then he paused and went back to the bedroom. Lily was pacing slowly, thoughtfully, between the couch and the fireplace. "Lily. Do me a favor, huh? Don't go downstairs until I'm with you."

She looked at him quizzically. "Why?"

"Just … don't. It's a big house. I don't want you that far away."

"Andrew, I'm …"

"I had a Scarlett O'Hara flash, okay? I'm not up to finding you at the bottom of the steps in a heap right now. I haven't even had any coffee."

"I could go make coffee …"

"Lily."

"I'm _fine_."

"Lily. Please."

She nodded, clearly exasperated. "All right. I'll stay right here until you get back."

"Promise?"

"Yes, dear."

"Thank you." He stepped back into the bathroom.

"This is silly," Lily called after him. "I'm not in labor."

* * *

Andrew was capable getting thoroughly clean in under two minutes. He fully intended to do so. Then he made himself slow down. In two minutes Lily would not yet be having her next contraction – if that was even what they were. More to the point, she seemed to be on the verge of being prickly about his concern. He was wildly worried, but the only thing he could do, at this moment, was not aggravate her any more.

He took a five-minute shower, and he took his time about getting dressed.

When he returned to the bedroom, trying to look calm and casual, Lily was still pacing. But her suitcase, which had been half-packed and open on one of the dressers, was closed and sitting by the door, next to her big duffle bag, zipped shut. She was dressed in maternity jeans and her favorite big top.

"Are we going, then?" Andrew inquired gently.

Lily nodded. "I called Zivitz. Talked to Laura, actually. She said to go get checked."

"Good."

"I'm still not convinced."

He glanced towards the bags again, then went to the closet to get shoes. "Yes, dear."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, dear."

"Are you making fun of me?" Lily demanded.

"Of course not, dear."

"Because I outweigh you now, you know. I can probably take you."

Andrew nodded, keeping his head down and his smile hidden. "Can I help you with your shoes?"

"Are you implying that I can't reach my feet?"

He glanced up at her. She was trying to be stern, but a familiar quirky smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, too. "You _can't_ reach your feet, dear."

Lily sighed heavily and sat down. "You'll have to help me back up, you know."

"I know." He knelt at her feet put on her sneakers one at a time, tied them firmly but not too tight.

Lily threaded her fingers through his hair gently. He looked up at her. "Well," Lily said.

"On to the next adventure," Andrew answered.

"I guess so."

"I want you to know, Lily – I would not put shoes on anyone but you."

"You say that now," she answered. "But in a few months, you'll be putting _her_ shoes on fifteen times a day."

Andrew chuckled. "I hadn't thought of that." He rolled to his feet, helped her to hers. "Shall we go?"

Lily paused, looked around the room. "It'll be different when we come back."

"Yes."

"_We'll_ be different." She sighed. "And there will be more of us."

"Yes." Andrew studied her face. She wasn't frightened, but she seemed a little sad. Wistful. He knew how she felt. "It's been good here, just the two of us."

"Yes."

"It'll be good with three of us, too."

"I know." Lily moved into his arms, put her head on his shoulder. "Or six of us, or ten."

"Hmm. Well, let's take it one at a time, shall we?"

She nodded, but they stayed where they were for a moment. "I love you," Lily whispered.

"I love you."

Another moment passed. Then she straightened as her abdomen went hard again. "We should go."

"I'll get the bags."

* * *

Broken Harbor has a surprisingly large hospital for a small town. The original Rowan had built it, of course, in his wealthy days, the only hospital in the county. The town also had the county seat, the main library, and every other convenience that generous contributions could attract.

Laura Zivitz had evidently called ahead; there was a nurse, a woman with a clipboard, and a young man with a wheelchair waiting for them at the main door of the hospital. "I don't need that," Lily protested. "I'm not really in labor."

"Hospital regulations," the nurse insisted. "And Dale is a very good driver, I promise."

Lily growled at them.

"You can park your car there," the lady with the clipboard said to Andrew, pointing to the far side of the driveway. "And then stop at the desk to get checked in."

"We're pre-registered," Lily said.

"Okay."

"I'll be up in a minute," Andrew promised.

The door was already closing behind Dale and his passenger.

* * *

There was a little autumn display at the end of the registration counter, plastic corn stalks with gourds and pumpkins. Andrew eyed them impatiently.

"I can't see to find your registration," the lady with the clipboard said. She was safely behind her desk now, digging through manila file folders.

"I have a copy," Andrew answered smoothly. He unzipped the outer pocket of Lily's labor bag and retrieved a set of the papers. There was another set in the glove compartment of the car; his wife was nothing if not over-prepared.

"Oh." The woman looked surprised. "Oh. Well. I'll just make you a copy of this, then."

"I have another copy. You can keep that one."

"Oh. Ahh … right. Let me just check this over then …"

Andrew leaned one elbow on the counter and watched her for a moment. Her shoulders were taut, her hands flustering over the papers. He twisted his head a little to read her name badge. "Miss Centa," he said quietly, "are you stalling me here?"

Her shoulders hitched even higher. "Oh, no, sir, Mr. Rowan. I just …" She glanced up, and his steel blue eyes caught hers and held them. She sighed deeply. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, it's hospital policy." She gestured towards the phone at the corner of the desk. "Labor and delivery will call as soon as they have your wife settled and you can go up. It will only be a few minutes, I promise. It's nothing personal, it's just … policy."

He did not let her look away. "It's a peculiar policy."

The clerk shrugged helplessly. "A few years ago there was an incident."

"An incident?"

"A woman came in with her husband, but she didn't want him in the labor room with her. She … um … wanted her boyfriend there instead."

"Because he was the baby's father."

"Yes."

"Ah." Andrew looked towards the front door, at nothing in particular.

"The husband had a gun," Miss Centa continued. "And the boyfriend had a gun. No one ended up getting shot, but it was a bit … anxious. For a while. So now we take mothers upstairs and give them a chance to make any special requests they might have. Just in case."

Andrew nodded. "Probably a wise precaution. Keeps all the guns here in the lobby with you."

There was a little pause. He glanced sideways at the clerk and smiled. "Just kidding."

"I know." She looked flustered anyhow.

"I trust there was a divorce shortly after the birth in question," he said, mostly to ease her fear.

Miss Centa shook her head. "Oh, no. After we got all the guns rounded up, we kicked them both out – the boyfriend and the husband. They went across the street and got falling-down drunk. The husband sobered up first. Or at least staggered back here first to see the baby. So she stayed with him."

"Interesting." Andrew eyed the silent phone. He was reasonably sure that Lily had no boyfriend, drunken, armed, or otherwise, that she was waiting for. But he was not so sure she wouldn't leave him cooling his heels in the waiting room while she delivered this child. She made things easy for Andrew; she always had. And she might, in her devious little mind, have decided that what was easiest for him was to sit down here, comfortably shielded from watching her suffer. It would be just like her.

He turned and looked towards the elevator bank. Beyond them was a steel door with a panic bar; it was undoubtedly the emergency stairs. He could either wait for one of the elevator cars to open – which could take a while, at this beastly hour – or he could bolt for the stairs. Either way, there was only Miss Centa to stop him. His eyes narrowed. Three more minutes, and he would move.

He turned his gaze casually back towards the front of the hospital and let his internal clock run.

At two minutes and ten seconds, the phone rang. He did not wait for the clerk to answer it. "Top floor, right?"

She smiled, relieved. "Yes. Good luck."

"Thanks." He retrieved the bags and headed for the elevators.

* * *

Andrew left the elevator on the fifth floor. They'd toured the maternity ward as part of their childbirth class; he knew that through the doors to the left of the elevators were the nursery and the rooms where new mothers stayed; to the right were the labor and delivery rooms. He shrugged the duffle bag strap higher on his shoulder; the damn thing weighed about fifty pounds. Then he shouldered through the double doors.

The wing was dim and quiet. The nurses' station was manned only by pumpkins, real ones with friendly faces painted on them. Two of the three L & D rooms were dark. The third was brightly lit. He heard voices, Lily's and another woman's. They were casual, calm. Andrew took a deep breath and went in.

Lily was sitting straight up in the hospital bed, in a gown, with a fat elastic band holding a monitor against the roundest part of her belly. At her side, a small dark-haired nurse watched the read-out.

"Hey," Lily said, "what took you?"

"They made me use the freight elevator. This bag was overweight." He shrugged the luggage into the far corner of the room.

The nurse grinned. "I had a birthing bag that big for my first," she said. "By the time I got to my third, I was down to a pair of socks and a ham sandwich for Dad."

"Laura gave us a list."

She nodded. "I know. I'm Gina," she said, and shook his hand.

Andrew nodded back. "I know. You were at the unwrapping. Your daughter plays soccer and your son plays …" he frowned, trying to remember, "…trombone?"

"Yes." She beamed. "You have a good memory."

"I took notes." He noticed with alarm that Lily had gone tense; for the first time she seemed to be in actual pain. "Are we staying?" he asked them both.

"Oh, you're staying," Gina answered. "She's at three, maybe four. Moving right along." She studied the screen again. "And the baby is tolerating labor just fine." She ran her hand with familiar ease over Lily's taut belly. "You seem pretty uncomfortable."

Lily shrugged as the contraction passed. "It was easier when I was moving around."

"I'll go call Dr. Zivitz, and then we'll either get you out of bed or get an anesthesiologist up here." She glanced at Andrew. "The call light's right here, but you can just stick your head out and yell if you need me."

"Okay."

She left the room. Andrew moved closer, rubbed Lily's back with one hand. "Rough?"

"Eh."

He gestured towards the massive bag. "I have tennis balls for counter-pressure. Pictures for a focus point. Relaxing music on a tape deck …"

"Shut up."

He perched on the edge of the bed. "They have a charming policy here of detaining fathers at the front desk. Seems there was a bit of a dust up between a husband and a boyfriend once."

Lily smirked. "Lovely. That would be why she made a point of asking me if I was sure I wanted you to come up."

"Small town life. Gotta love it."

"You don't have to stay, you know. For the delivery."

Andrew frowned at her. "Why? Is your boyfriend coming?"

"Not if he's smart. You know what I mean."

"That you know I would far rather suffer myself than see you in pain?"

"Yes."

"We've been all through this, Lily. If you can go through this, I can certainly stay and … cheer you on or whatever." He sighed. "What I really hate is feeling both helpless and useless."

"I know."

"I'm not leaving. Put it out of your head."

Lily nodded solemnly. "I'm still not convinced I'm in labor."

"You've got Gina fooled, then."

She sat up straighter, took a sharp breath. "Ow," she said.

Andrew glanced at the monitor. He watched the bottom line on the screen climbed steadily as the contraction built. The fluttering upper line, on the other hand, did not react.

"Breathe," he said. The word tasted astonishingly stupid on his tongue.

Gina came back. "Laura will be in in a while," she announced. "And she says to get you on your feet."

"'kay," Lily answered, a little breathless.

"After this contraction." The nurse watched the monitor for a moment, then pulled the Velcro on the elastic strap loose. "Believe me, you'll feel a lot better if you walk. Do you have some slippers? I can get you booties."

"We've got them" Andrew answered. He went to the duffle bag and dug around until he found Lily's slippers. Of the fifty-plus pounds of labor aids they had brought with them, the slippers were the only thing they would use.

* * *

They walked a few laps around the nurses' station, and then, at Gina's suggestion, crossed the elevator lobby and looked through the windows of the nursery. There were two babies in bassinettes there, a tiny baby in a blue blanket and a pink-wrapped girl who looked to be about twice his size. The lights were dim here, too; in the corner, an older woman in purple scrubs rocked in a chair under a goose-neck lamp that shone over her shoulder on her knitting.

There were vinyl stickers on the outside of the nursery window, celebrating the season.

Lily paused and grabbed the solid rail that ran along every wall in the ward. Concerned, Andrew took her other arm. "Breathe," he said again. It still felt stupid and useless. But Lily did breathe, slowly, deliberately, and in a moment she straightened.

"That's better," she said. "Being out of bed is much better." She took his arm and they walked on.

Like the delivery end of the floor, the mothers' rooms were arranged in a circle around the nurses' station. The doors to eight of the rooms were open and dark; the other two were nearly closed. A very tall blond nurse was stocking a cart. "Hello there," she said quietly. "I'm Emma."

"I'm Andrew Rowan, and this is Lily."

"I know. I'm glad to meet you finally. My kids are out at the house all the time playing football. I hear you make great cookies."

"No," Lily answered. "I _buy_ great cookies."

"Oh. I wondered how you kept up with demand. How are you liking Broken Harbor?"

"I love it. I've always wanted to live by the o-" Lily stopped and grabbed the edge of the counter.

Andrew rubbed her lower back calmly. "Ocean," he supplied.

The nurse watched Lily closely, but chatted with no concern in her voice. "I'd be a little worried, I guess, that close to the water with little ones."

"We're going to repair the wall," Andrew answered, "before this one can walk. That will help for a little while. And then we're thinking of getting some kind of herding dogs to help us keep track of them."

"That's a great idea," Emma agreed. "They'll have to be pretty big, though, to keep a toddler out of the water."

"They don't have to … keep them out," Lily said between deliberate breaths. "They just have to … let us know."

"Good point. You know, I have a cousin out West who has those cattle dogs. They might be good. They have short hair, you know."

"That would definitely be a plus," Andrew offered. "How are they with cats?"

"They try to herd them, of course."

"Hmm."

Lily straightened and released her grip on the counter. "You're not very busy tonight," she said, indicating the empty rooms.

"No, thankfully. Two weeks ago we were full to the rafters. Early spring and early fall are the big baby times. Would you like to pick out a room?"

"You have anything with an ocean view?"

Emma smiled. "No, we're too far inland for that, I'm afraid. Best I can offer is a nice view of Main Street."

"We'll take it," Andrew answered.

"I'll get it set up. And I'll have them send you a breakfast tray. I bet you deliver by then."

"How soon is breakfast?"

"Three hours."

Lily nodded gamely. "I think you're right." She took Andrew's arm. "We should keep moving."

"As you wish." He nodded to the nurse. "We'll be back."

* * *

They walked the circuit almost casually, across the elevator and around the L & D desk, then back to the maternity end and around that desk. Andrew was aware that both Gina and Emma were keeping an eye on them, but it was a calm habitual attention that reassured him. They were there if anything went wrong, but they saw nothing that prompted them to get involved at the moment.

Lily was doing just fine.

The contractions grew longer, closer together and apparently sharper, but she seemed uncomfortable, nothing more.

They were quiet for a time. The hospital was quiet around them. "I love this time of night," Lily said finally. "I love being awake when almost everyone else is sleeping. The secret hours."

Andrew nodded. "You've seen your share of them, haven't you?"

"I used to walk the streets this late – this early, and look at the windows that had lights in them and wonder why. Who was awake there? I'd try to guess if they getting ready for work, or they had a sick child, or they were just getting home. Or if they waiting for someone."

"Or if they'd had a nightmare and there was no one to comfort them," Andrew supplied.

She paused and turned, rested her face against his shoulder, rubbed her forehead against his beard. "Yes."

"But not any more," he promised softly.

"No. Not any more." Her grip tightened as the next contraction hit; when it ended, they walked on.

The baby boy in the nursery was screaming, his face red with outrage as the nurse changed his diaper. She wrapped him quickly, then wheeled his bassinette past them and into his mother's room. There were lights then, a sleepy voice under the baby's howls.

"But we will have others reasons to be awake," Andrew commented dryly.

Lily chuckled and they continued their slow trek.


	9. Chapter 9

Laura Zivitz arrived about an hour after they checked in. She brought a big foam cup of coffee for Andrew.

"None for me?" Lily pouted.

"I'll get you some later," Laura promised. "Right now, odds are good you'll just puke it back up."

"Oh, thanks."

The woman grinned and walked with them. Lily had three contractions in the time it took them to complete a lap of the floor. "You're really moving along, aren't you?" Laura said. "I think we'd better check our progress."

They went back to the delivery room and Lily climbed awkwardly and with some complaint onto the table again. Laura pressed the fetal monitor against her round belly and simply instructed Andrew to hold it there. "I know it's uncomfortable to be on your back," she said. "We'll be quick."

She did a very quick check, then helped Lily sit upright. "You're at six, my dear," she said. "This is what we call indecent haste for a first baby."

"You denied her coffee," Andrew said.

"Ah, is that it?" Laura looked at the monitor for a moment. "The baby doesn't seem to mind it, though." She checked Lily's blood pressure. "If you want an epidural, we need to do it right now."

Lily shook her head. "I think I'm okay. The walking really helps."

"You sure? It's not going to be available to us later."

"Honestly, the idea of someone sticking a needle in my spine creeps me out worse than the idea of labor pain."

Laura grinned. "I've always thought that, too, but I never say it." She glanced at Andrew. "You doing okay, Dad?"

"Better now," he answered, indicating the now-empty coffee cup.

"Elixir of the gods. Let's get you back on your feet," she said to Lily, helping her up. "Would you like to try the shower?"

"That sounds lovely."

* * *

The shower stall in the room was big enough to accommodate a shower chair, but Lily didn't want to sit down. Instead, at Laura's suggestion, she stood with her back to the shower jets, leaning forward and gripping the back of the chair for balance. The room quickly grew cloudy with steam. "Too hot for me," Laura said. "There's the call bell. I'll be close if you need me."

Andrew leaned against the frame of the shower stall, just out of the spray. "Is it helping?" he asked.

Lily groaned. "It's wonderful."

"You're doing really well."

She chuckled. "It's the coffee. It smelled so good."

"I could sneak you some."

"Hmm. No, better not."

Her breathing changed; he could tell that another contraction had started. Yet she still seemed no more than uncomfortable. "I might have guessed you'd be terribly efficient about this."

"We're not … done yet," Lily reminded him.

"You know," Andrew said, "I'm not going to think you're a wimp if you have pain meds."

"Why thank … you." She laughed softly. "But it doesn't actually hurt that bad. It's just sort of like work. Like running a long distance. It's not easy, it's definitely work, but it's not exactly painful. Just uncomfortable. Tiring." She paused. "For now, anyhow." She took another deep breath. The contractions were almost on top of each other now.

"Do you want your music? Ice chips? Anything?"

"No … I'm fine…. Well, not … fine, but … damn, I can't … even catch … my breath in … between."

"I'm kinda thinking you're in transition," he observed.

"Seems likely." She relaxed again.

"Deep breaths," Andrew said. "Catch as many as you can."

She took exactly four, and then she was shortening up again.

"Do you want me to call Laura?" he asked.

"Why?"

"So she can … uh … tell us you're in transition."

"I'm okay," Lily panted. "Moving … right along."

Fourteen minutes passed. Andrew did not have to look at his watch; long years of practice had set an automatic clock in his head that clicked on in any crisis. Though, he corrected himself firmly, this was not a crisis. This was a completely natural process that had gone on for centuries.

Not, of course, with his wife and his child involved, and that did make a difference.

He watched Lily closely. The contractions came at a steady, punishing rate. They were shorter, but clearly harder, and she barely had time to relax between them. He was aware that he was up on his toes, tense and ready to demand drugs for her the minute she seemed to need them.

But though the labor was definitely tiring, Lily did not seem to be in any great distress. She wasn't enjoying the contractions, exactly, but she did seem to revel in them. It was like running, she'd said, and Andrew could see now exactly how her mind was working. Running, working hard, and perhaps it did hurt, climbing this last hill, but not enough to stop. The finish line was in sight now. She was sure of herself, sure of her body. Sure that she could accomplish this incredible race that had started so far away.

Two other people, he thought, in two other lives. And soon, very soon, they would be three.

He had seen Lily Romanov do some damned amazing things. But none of them came anywhere close to watching Lily Rowan, naked and round, shrouded in steam, taking short determined breaths through one contraction after another, without complaint, without hesitation. Without fear.

The contraction ended. She raised her head and took a long, deep breath and then another. And then another.

When she had taken ten leisurely breaths, she stood up straight. "Something's wrong," she said. "Call Laura."

The nurse had left the room; Andrew grabbed the call bell and held it down until both Laura and Gina scampered in. "Something's wrong," he said.

Laura crowded past him to the side of the shower. She didn't seem to care that the spray soaked her sleeve. "What is it?"

"They just stopped," Lily said. For the first time there was fear in her eyes, wild and edging on panic. "The contractions just stopped."

"Ohhh," Laura said. "Oh, don't look so worried, darling. That just means you're through transition."

"Then shouldn't I be pushing?" Lily demanded.

"I'm sure you will be, very soon. Let's get you dried off." The nurse reached past Lily and turned the shower off. "It's all right," she said calmly. "Everything's fine. Everything's just fine. Everything's going exactly like it should. Well, maybe a little faster than it should, but just fine." She grabbed a towel and handed it to Andrew; grabbed one of her own and started drying the other side of Lily's body. Over her shoulder, she said, "Gina, call the old man back and tell him we're ready for him."

"Right away."

"Tell him to come in his slippers," Laura added.

Lily let them dry her and get her into a clean gown. She was oddly quiet, compliant. All the strength that had carried her through the contractions seemed to be gone now. She was soft, almost ethereal.

It scared the hell out of Andrew. But Laura seemed briskly, professionally calm and he followed her lead. Whatever was happening with Lily and the baby, his panic would not help.

They helped her back onto the delivery bed. Andrew scanned the room quickly and noticed major changes: There were four rolling carts, all covered but undoubtedly holding instruments. Two huge racks of overhead lights had been positioned at each side of the foot of the bed and plugged in, though they were still turned off. A receiving table with an overhead warming light had been pulled from the corner and plugged in as well, though its light was also off. It had its own attendant trays of covered instruments. They were ready for this delivery, and they expected it to be fast.

Laura had slapped the baby monitor on Lily's belly again. Andrew thought he caught just the barest shrug from her as she studied the read-out. "The baby's just fine," she said, and there was a hint of suppressed relief in her voice as well. "See?" She turned the display so Lily could see it. "Her heart rate has barely changed at all."

"Okay," Lily said softly.

Laura moved quickly to the next part of the exam and nodded to herself. "And you, my dear, are fully dilated."

"So why am I not pushing?" Lily asked.

"Because," Laura patted her belly fondly, "you're having _caesurae_. That's Latin for 'the doctor isn't here yet and he gets very cranky if I catch his babies'."

Gina came back in. "Five minutes," she said.

"He might make it," Laura said mildly. "She's at ten."

"Oh, good. I thought you'd go fast."

"We're taking a little break," she continued. "So here's the plan. If you're comfortable in bed, we're going to have you rest on your left side, and we'll keep the monitor on. If you feel another contraction or the urge to push, let us know. Otherwise we're just going to let you rest. All right?"

Lily sighed. "Okay."

"Do you want a few ice chips?"

"Sure."

Andrew got her ice chips while the nurses fussed with her a little more. The room was oddly quiet; the night, in fact, had gone strangely still. It was as if the whole city was holding its breath, waiting. Lily sucked her ice chips and closed her eyes, exhausted and content.

Gina lowered the head of the bed and dimmed the overhead lights. "If you want to use the bathroom, get more coffee or anything," she told Andrew, "we'll be right here with her."

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"All right."

"How long is this likely to last?"

"Sometimes ten or fifteen minutes. Sometimes a couple hours."

"Go get coffee," Lily murmured. "I'm fine."

Andrew frowned. "You won't try to lock me out or anything, will you?"

"Not if you have coffee."

He chuckled uneasily. "I'll be back in five minutes."

Just past the elevators was a stairway. Andrew trotted down the stairs to the ground floor. After the slow pacing with Lily and the standing by the shower, it felt good to stretch his legs a little. He ducked into the public men's room outside the cafeteria, then went in and got a large cup of coffee. He put it in a second foam cup and put a lid on it. It would probably still be cold before Lily was allowed to drink it.

On his way back up the hall to the elevators, he passed a door with a small stained glass window and a sign that said _Chapel_. He hesitated, then went back. Hesitated again with his hand on the handle. Finally, he pushed the door open and went inside.

It was a small room, neat and completely non-denominational. Three short rows of pews, an altar with fresh flowers on it. Low lights. The soft hum of the hospital's ventilation system. Nothing more. And yet he could hear the echoes of prayers here. So many people, praying in thanks, in fear, in grief. So many tears had fallen in this room. With only the barest trappings of any religion, it was still a holy place.

He stood with his back against the door. He could not sit here. It would be presumptuous. His being here at all was probably offensive to God. If there was a God.

He knew there was. He just didn't know if they were on speaking terms. It had been a very long time.

And yet …

"God," he said, very quietly. "I know I haven't been …" He stopped. "You know what I am. I don't ask anything for myself. I don't deserve it, and You know it as well as I do." He hesitated again. "But that girl upstairs. You know what she is, too. What she's been through. What she's … what she's meant to me. If You could just … if You could see her through this, protect her … don't let any harm come to her, to her child …" He closed his eyes, squeezing back tears. "I don't suppose You make deals," he said dryly. "But if any harm has to come to anybody tonight, please let it be me."

Andrew took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes roughly. Then he shoved it back into his pocket and hurried to the elevators.

* * *

Zivitz was taking his coat off at the nurses' station. "Well, there you are," he said warmly, shaking Andrew's hand. "Couldn't find an open bar, huh?"

"Just coffee, I'm afraid."

"Just as well. Sounds like you'll need to be paying attention in there. A first baby comes this fast, the second generally comes faster."

"You're really not making me feel any better, Doctor."

Zivitz nodded. "Just giving you the facts, son. Let's go see your wife."

Lily was, apparently, asleep.

The doctor looked at the fetal monitor, then at her chart. Then he went down the hall to check on the other mothers and babies. Andrew sat in the rocking chair next to Lily and took her hand gently. She did not stir.

Zivitz came back in fifteen minutes and looked at the monitor again.

Lily opened her eyes sleepily. "Hi there."

"Hello, young lady. Have a nice nap?"

"I did, yes."

"How do you feel?"

She considered. "I'm hungry."

"Are you, now? Laura tells me you're ready to have this baby."

"She tells me the same thing."

Zivitz glanced around. "You all set, Gina?"

"Everything's ready to go," she said.

"Well, then, let's see about getting this baby delivered so Mom can have some breakfast."

Andrew stood up. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to have her roll onto her back again and give us just a little push. I know you don't feel it yet, but sometimes babies need a little prompting."

Gina put the lights back up to full and raised the head of the bed again. Once Lily had turned, it took a moment to adjust the fetal monitor again. They got her to put her feet on the sides of the bed and draped a sheet over her raised knees, which Andrew guessed was mostly for his benefit. Zivitz said gently, "Just a little push now."

Lily grasped her knees and curled her shoulders forward, as they'd practiced in Laura's class. She clenched her teeth and pushed.

"Once more," Zivitz said.

Andrew watched her face anxiously for any sign of discomfort. What he saw instead was a sudden astonishment. "Oh, hell!" Lily said. She rolled upward without help, and suddenly her whole body seemed to be pushing, from her eyes to her feet.

"Good, good," Zivitz murmured comfortingly from the foot of the bed.

Gina counted slowly to ten. "Now relax, take a deep breath and do it again," she coached.

Lily did exactly as she was told.

Her concentration, her focus, were absolutely astounding to Andrew. Her eyes went wild, but it was not in pain. It was something more, something basic and primal. Something pure. Lily as woman, Lily in complete accord with her body.

Gina got to ten again and Lily uncoiled, flopped back against the bed, her eyes coming into focus again.

"Very good," Zivitz said. He stood and stripped off his gloves, then swiftly stuffed his arms into the gown Gina held for him and got new gloves.

"I would like to report," Lily answered mildly, "that 'urge to push' does not begin to describe that."

"We know," Laura answered. She hurried across the room and turned on the warming lights, then the lights at the foot of the bed. She rolled the instrument carts closer as Zivitz settled onto his stool between Lily's feet again. "But we don't know what else to call it."

"There isn't a good description," Gina agreed. She glanced up at the monitor. "Here we go. Deep breath and push."

Lily coiled into position again as if it was instinct. Andrew moved closer, supporting her back and shoulders this time, but she didn't need him; her body was taut, hard with effort. When she finished the push, however, she went limp against his arm.

"Breathe and push again," Gina urged.

Laura looked over Zivitz' shoulder. "You're doing great, darling. One more breath and push. You can do it."

Lily breathed and coiled again. Andrew could feel her start to shake with effort this time, but she pushed full-out for the ten count.

When she had relaxed back again, Zivitz said, "All right, now listen, young lady. About one more push and this child's head will be out. When that happens, I'm going to tell you to stop pushing and pant. You will still want to push. Pant, don't push. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Laura?" Zivitz said. "Next time, sign them up for the advanced childbirth class."

"The one that includes the do-it-yourself chapter?"

"That's the one."

"Here we go," Gina said.

Lily curled forward and pushed again, and Zivitz said, sharply, "Stop. Don't push."

"I can't," Lily cried in frustration.

Andrew leaned over, his face nearly touching hers. "Pant!" he commanded. "Don't push, for one minute. Just pant. Pant!"

He panted with her. It made him light-headed. But she managed – _they_ managed – not to push, briefly.

A child's small harsh cry filled the room.

"Okay," Zivitz said. "Now just a little push. Little."

Lily growled and pushed, and then she flopped back against Andrew's arm again, her desire to push suddenly gone.

The child cried again.

Andrew stared at his wife, his Lily, suddenly calm and relaxed in his arms. There was nothing but him and her, this luminous, astonishing woman, her eyes tear-filled and sparkling up at him.

Then Zivitz said, "Congratulations! It's a girl!"

Andrew leaned back and looked toward him. The doctor was standing, holding above the drape a small white thing, covered in blood and white-yellow ick, black hair at one end, stick-like arms and legs stuck straight up, screaming. Gina scrambled to throw a towel over Lily's belly, and Zivitz lay the baby there face-down. The baby continued to scream.

Her little arms and legs grasped frantically at Lily's sides. By instinct, Andrew pulled the edges of the towel up over her little body and rubbed her skin, trying to clean her, to comfort her. His long fingers completely covered the infant, keeping her from falling, keeping her warm. Lily's hands joined his. They rubbed her hair, her back, her tiny arms and legs and ridiculously small butt.

The baby's face was turned toward him. For a moment she stopped screaming and her eyes opened. They were blue. Not newborn blue, but steel gunmetal blue. His eyes.

"Hello, beautiful," he whispered.

He managed to look from her to Lily. "She's beautiful."

Lily was crying. He moved to kiss the tears off her cheeks, never taking his hands off their child. "Oh, she's beautiful. And you're beautiful."

Zivitz said, "Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?"

"No," Andrew answered. "I have beautiful girls to look at."

The voices, the hands, the sound of her mother's heartbeat all calmed the child. She stopped screaming. Her eyes remained wide open. She seemed to be looking around, taking in her new world. She looked amazingly wise.

"An old soul," Laura said over his shoulder.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Andrew agreed.

Lily shuddered suddenly. Andrew glanced up at her again; her damp eyes were full of fear. "Take her," she said.

"What?"

She shuddered again. Her face was whiter than the hospital sheet. "I can't … I'm so … cold … take her!"

Instinct took over before reason caught up. He swept the baby up, his long fingers cradling her head, without even looking at her. "Lily, what's wrong?" He turned to Laura. "What's wrong with her?"

The nurse shouldered him back from the bed and draped a light blanket over Lily's chest, and then another one. "She's all right," she said firmly. "She's a little shocky. It will pass. Perfectly natural, when you lose that much weight that quickly."

"Weight?" Andrew asked vaguely.

"Between the baby and the fluid, the placenta and the bleeding, it's quite a lot for a body to adjust to. That's one reason slower deliveries are better."

Zivitz stood up, peeled off his gloves. "It's about the _only_ reason slower deliveries are better," he said. "It will pass in a few minutes, I promise."

"It's okay," Lily panted. "I just didn't want to drop her."

"I've got her," Andrew promised.

"Quite a lovely pair of lungs that one has," the doctor said. "You did very well, my dear. Very well indeed."

"We knew you would," Laura added. She produced a small plastic container of orange juice, shook it briskly, jabbed a straw through the foil lid, and held it to Lily's lips.

Lily continued to shiver; her teeth chattered as she drank. But her eyes cleared, focused again on the child. "She has your eyes," she said.

Andrew glanced down. He had barely noticed he had the child cradled against his chest. She was looking up at him with her unnervingly calm gaze. "Yes," he said. "Let's hope she doesn't get my eyebrows, too."

Lily laughed, and a whole new spasm of trembling ran through her.

He looked down again at the baby. The baby with his eyes, yes, but her mother's mouth and nose and, thankfully, chin. _Their_ daughter. His and Lily's. After all the years, all the miles. All they had left behind. This was what they had gained.

His own hands began to tremble, and he gathered their child closer. There was no question. She had been worth everything.

He would kill for her, or die for her, this precious little life. And he would live for her.

And so would Lily.

He looked up at his wife. She was watching him, and she was crying. He was only a little surprised to find that he was, too. He wanted to wipe his eyes, but both hands were wrapped around the baby. He couldn't let go.

He wasn't ever going to be able to let go.

Lily gestured, and he moved closer to the bed again. She brushed his cheeks with her fingertips. Her hands were still icy, still trembling, but she didn't seem to mind. Their daughter was safe and well, and for a moment everything was perfect.

The baby sighed heavily, as if she grew tired of their attention. Then she drew a deep breath and wailed.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a pleasant fall morning, and Robert McCall was cleaning up after a decadently late breakfast with his lover when his phone rang. "McCall," he answered, brisk but friendly.

"Hello, old son."

McCall grinned, surprised and pleased. "Hello to you. We've been expecting your call."

The voice on the phone was warm, content. "We have a daughter, Robert."

"Do you, now?" Mira glanced at him, wanting to know if she should leave the room. He shook his head and mouthed the word, 'Control'. "Today?"

"About an hour ago," Andrew answered. "She's beautiful, Robert. She's beautiful."

"Of course she is. And her mother?"

"She's fine. She thinks we should have a dozen."

Robert grimaced. "That would be the drugs talking."

"What drugs?" Andrew snorted. "Remember who we're talking about here."

"Ah, well, of course. What was I thinking?"

"How big?" Mira asked softly.

"I'm to ask how big she is," Robert repeated obediently.

"Seven-seven. Twenty inches. Perfectly average. Except that newborns aren't supposed to be beautiful. And she is _beautiful_, Robert."

McCall heard voices in the background at the other end, too, heard the baby cry and quiet. His friend was calling him from Lily's bedside, probably had his daughter in his arms as he spoke. Something twisted, deep in Robert's chest, something that he had not felt in a long time. "I am glad for you, my friend. For all of you. Give L … your wife a kiss for me."

"I will."

He went to hang up. "What's her name?" Mira asked.

"I … ah, Andrew? What is your daughter's name?"

Andrew told him. McCall laughed out loud. "That's rather cruel, don't you think?"

"It fits. I can't wait for you to meet her."

"We will proceed as planned, then. Be well, my friend. Try not to buy any ponies before I get there."

"It'll be tough, but I'll try." More murmuring behind him. "My wife would like you to call our other friends, if you will."

"I will," Robert promised. "See you soon."

He hung up, reported all pertinent data to Mira, and then picked up the phone again. Scott and Becky weren't home; he left a message with the details. He got Kostmayer on the first ring.

"Kostmayer."

"They have a daughter."

There was half a second of pause while Mickey processed who 'they' was. "Today?"

"This morning, yes."

"Figures."

"She was due."

Mickey snorted. "McCall, do you know what day it is?"

"It's, uh …"

"It's the 31st. Halloween. Perfect birthday for the little spook."

Robert chuckled his appreciation. "You're quite right there, Mickey. Except I don't think this child will be going into the family business."

"Yeah, right."

Behind him, a woman's voice, and the inevitable demands for height and weight, which Robert reported and Mickey repeated. Neither of them quite understood why woman were such sticklers for statistics.

"Oh, what's her name?"

McCall paused. "Helen Joy."

Mickey paused, too. "Hell and joy? That's not a name, it's a sit rep."

"A synopsis, anyhow. But it does seem to fit."

"Hell and joy," Kostmayer said again. "Helen Joy. Well, why not? How's Mom?"

"She thinks they should have a dozen."

"She would. Thanks for calling, McCall."

Robert hung up the phone. Mira brought him a cup of tea, then disappeared into the bedroom. He drifted into the living room and looked out the window, at the street below. It was clear and sunny, but he could see clouds of breath from pedestrians. It was cold here; it would be colder in Canada. He shook his head. He would never in a million years have expected Lily Romanov to end up with an ocean-front home in Canada. She had always seemed like a warm-weather sort of girl. But then, if he hadn't expected it, neither would anyone who might be looking for her.

Helen Joy. Indeed

But not the little spook. The little librarian, perhaps. The little accountant, or architect, or diplomat, perhaps, but not a spook. Her parents would never allow it.

Of course, if she was her parents' child, it probably wouldn't matter a damn what they said on that subject – or any other.

Helen Joy, he mused again. He hoped it was a summary and not a prediction. He smiled to himself. Control – Andrew – hadn't the faintest idea yet just how deeply his life had just been changed. The naming of the child had been whistling past the graveyard. He didn't have a clue.

Hell and joy.

McCall couldn't wait to meet her.

* * *

The baby slept in his arms. The day nurse clucked her tongue softly; she thought he was spoiling the child. But she smiled, too, and left them together in the rocker by the window.

The baby had been weighed and measured in the delivery room, then returned to her mother to nurse. Both of them seemed to get the hang of that process immediately. Andrew had hovered, utterly unneeded, until they sent him for more coffee.

He'd gone with the baby to the nursery, helped with her first bath, held her while they pricked her heel and comforted her through a dozen other infant indignities. She was a remarkable little creature, tiny and fragile and yet loud and stubborn, too. They dressed her in a diaper and a t-shirt, wrapped her in a blanket and put a tiny knit hat on her head – not pink or blue, but orange, in honor of her holiday birthday.

"Could be worse," Andrew whispered to her. "You ought to see what they make the Easter babies wear."

When they were done tormenting the child, he wheeled her down the hall to Lily's new room, with the promised view of Main Street. She was finishing her breakfast when they got there; Helen obligingly nursed again.

Emma came with a second breakfast tray, and Lily gave the baby to Andrew and ate that, too.

Then both of them, mother and daughter, fell asleep.

Andrew didn't blame them. It had been a busy morning.

He toyed gently with the name band around his daughter's tiny wrist. There was a radio tracker around her ankle as well. If he tried to get on the elevator with her, an alarm would lock down the whole hospital. It was a little disturbing, but necessary; Andrew approved of the precaution.

He glanced out the window. The sun was straight overhead now, and the autumn shadows had vanished for a few minutes. They would be back soon. And when the sun set, the streets would be swarmed with monsters. Ghouls and ghosts and vampires, and also princesses and race car drivers, astronauts and fairies. "We have the best house for Halloween parties," he whispered to Helen. "You are going to have the best birthday parties this town has ever seen."

She sighed in her sleep, and he put her up against his shoulder, careful not to prickle her soft skin with his beard. Her faint breath tickled his ear. Her newborn scent washed over him.

All the monsters here could be chased away for a handful of candy. And if others came, real monsters, they would be ready for them. Kill for you, die for you, he thought again. Live for you.

He glanced at Lily. She was still pale, almost glowing, her breath slow and regular. She was as efficient at carrying and delivering babies as she had been at everything else in her life. Impossible ease. He should have expected nothing less.

"You and your brothers and sisters," he whispered to Helen Joy. "And somehow I think that's going to be quite a crowd."

The End


End file.
